


The Apotheosis of Fox Hux

by cthene



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Body Horror, Dubious Consent, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-10-10 20:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10446294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cthene/pseuds/cthene
Summary: Overseeing the First Order colonization of an uncharted wilderness planet, General Hux has a fateful encounter with a mystical, ancient power that leaves him irreversibly changed.Or: The one where Armitage Hux (34, scary) is transformed into a beautiful, enchanted fox-person, much to his chagrin and Kylo Ren’s delight.





	1. Fox Hux Begins

The ground team consists of twenty troopers, specially equipped. This is just an initial survey. It’s best to keep these operations small and agile, Hux believes. Arms crossed, he watches the flickering hologram, a live feed from the squad leader’s body camera. He squints, trying to make anything out of the dense, grainy footage of the planet’s vegetation. The surface to orbit connection is poor. The squad leader mentions that they’ve been cutting their way through these woods for hours, careful not to make it sound like a complaint. It _is_ a complaint, Hux notes. But that’s alright. Troopers aren’t droids, they get tired. They ought be encouraged, he figures, to report facts that are likely to affect their performance in the field. Hux tells the squad leader they can start heading back to their shuttle. NL-1009 is audibly grateful. This is more problematic. He shouldn’t be made to feel that Hux is somehow favoring him.

 

 

Hux considers reprimanding NL-1009 for his tone. Hux is in a good mood. That’s the problem. He ought to check the tendency towards lenience which this produces in him. Command begins with self control, after all. But the moment passes, and he doesn’t say anything. His heart is beating too fast, he realizes. This is exciting. It’s... pleasurable. It’s not often anymore that a brand new, habitable world is discovered in the Unknown Regions. Hux runs a gloved hand over the control panel in front of him, letting this feeling roll around inside his chest. Scrubbing back over the footage, he briefly indulges the notion that this is how the founders of the First Order must have felt as they braved the Unknown Regions for the very first time. Cast out of their homes, they sought refuge in the most mysterious and treacherous area of the galaxy, separated as it was by almost impassible asteroid fields and hyperdrive-crashing electromagnetic phenomena. They were lucky to find any place at all to build those early, ramshackle settlements. The vast majority of planets don’t support life. New discoveries are extremely rare and extremely valuable. This is the first time Hux himself has ever made one. And it feels... good.

 

 

Leaning over the console, he saves the footage to the _Finalizer_ ’s main hard drive. As he’s lifting his finger from the touch screen, he pauses, feeling a familiar prickle travel from the center of his shoulder blades to the nape of his neck. “You’re late,” he says, straightening. He turns on his heel, and frowns. Ren’s not even there. A moment later, the blast doors open and Ren steps out into the control room. Odd. His presence preceded him by several seconds. Hux isn’t aware of ever having anticipated him by that much. Did Ren do something different with his Force this time? Or is he, Hux, getting better at noticing it? The knowledge that Ren might, at any time, be tracking his location aboard the ship has always been unnerving. The idea of being able to return the knight’s invasive, unwanted gaze... Hux takes a step towards Ren, his mood buoyed by this thought even further. “There you are,” he sneers, but it’s verging on a smile. And so what? So what if Ren knows he’s excited about this? It’s a good thing, for the First Order. Maybe Ren should be more enthusiastic, maybe he’s the one who’s out of line. “Well?” he asks. “What have you learned?”

 

 

Ren tilts his helmet back, as if looking at a spot just above Hux’s head. The Supreme Leader has charged him with advising and assisting, but the survey of the planet for potential colonization is within Hux’s purview alone. Ren seems to resent Hux’s discovery enormously. Or rather, he resents the approval it has earned him from the Supreme Leader. “General,” he says quietly. “I have spent the day in meditation.”

 

 

“I know,” says Hux, impatient. “Tell me what you’ve learned.”

 

 

Ren seems uncomfortable. “I must advise you against moving forward with this project,” he says. “It’s too dangerous.”

 

 

Hux feels himself flush with anger. “Why?” he snaps. “What are you talking about?” Disappointment is already beginning to bleed into him. Leave it to Ren to sour his good mood within seconds of appearing.

 

 

“There is a presence on the planet,” says Ren. “A powerful presence. I doubt it will welcome the establishment of a military base in the middle of its home.”

 

 

“We’ve scanned for evidence of primitive civilizations,” says Hux, sucking his teeth in disdain. “And there aren’t any. There isn’t anything down there sentient enough to take offense to our building a base there. I’ve had a squad on the surface for three shifts surveying the local flora and fauna, and they’ve yet to find anything that might pose a serious threat.”

 

 

“It’s not a biological life form,” says Ren. “It’s more of a. An entity. A presence. Of course it doesn’t show up in your scans. It is of the Force.”

 

 

“Well then,” says Hux, tucking his datapad under his arm and making his way towards the blast doors, “seeing as that’s your area. Why don’t _you_ worry about that, and I’ll worry about the survey?” Ren tears after him down the corridor, upset.

 

 

“You’re not listening to me,” he growls. “If you weren’t going to listen to me, why did you tell me to come?” Hux doesn’t have a good answer for this, so he doesn’t say anything. He fixes his gaze straight ahead and keeps marching. “You shouldn’t go down there,” says Ren. “It will come after you, Hux.” He follows close at Hux’s elbow, trying to shove his way out in front. “Even if it has left your troopers alone so far. If you go down there, it will recognize you. It knows that you’re the one who discovered its planet, and it knows what you mean to do with it. If you disturb its territory, it will seek revenge against you.” He stops in the middle of the corridor and Hux brushes past him. “I won’t save you from it,” Ren calls. “You’ll be on your own.”

 

 

Hux turns on his heel, staring pointedly into the slit of Ren’s helmet. “I don’t believe you,” he says.

 

 

Ren shifts on his feet, startled. “You don’t believe what?” he asks quietly. “That I won’t save you?”

 

 

Fuck. Hux gives a derisive snort, to cover his embarrassment. He didn’t mean to phrase it that way. To make it sound as if he was somehow counting on Ren’s protection. “I don’t believe in this ‘entity’ of yours,” he clarifies. (The fluttering in his chest has turned sharp and unpleasant.) Ren is jealous, jealous of his success, and trying to scare him out of pursing this opportunity. It’s exactly the sort of childish scheme Ren would come up with in order to undermine him. Besides: When was the last time one of Ren’s visions provided him with any valuable intelligence? No, there is no ‘entity’ haunting the planet. _His_ planet. He won’t have it.

 

 

He enters a turbo lift, pleased when Ren doesn’t follow him. There is, of course, the off chance that Ren is in earnest. That he’s trying to warn Hux of a genuine danger. Hux frowns to himself. It’s possible, even likely, that his enthusiasm for the project is compromising his judgement. The lift chimes, and he steps out onto the upper deck. As he heads towards his quarters, he takes stock of his breathing and heart beat. Something is... off. He should delay his trip to the planet’s surface. He should take further precautions. He _should_ , and yet he finds himself incapable of actually resolving to do so. He _wants_ to go to the surface, tomorrow, as planned. Something down there is calling to him--

 

 

He comes to a halt in front of the door to his quarters, the tip of his nose centimeters from the brushed metal barrier. No. He is in control of himself. Nothing is calling to him. This is just Ren, Ren faffing about and meddling with his head. The same as usual. He keys the door open and steps into his own room, loosening the collar of his uniform and setting his datapad down on the desk. Peeling his gloves off and tossing them over the datapad, he rubs at the back of his neck with a bare hand. His skin is too warm. Not feverish, but warm. He’s in such a good fucking mood, that’s the problem. (When something feels this good it’s probably a trap. When he feels this good, he can’t trust himself.) He ought to delay the trip. The datapad lies glinting on the desk in front of him. He doesn’t reach for it. The schedule remains unchanged.

 

 

 

 

 

The following morning, Hux reports to medical in order to receive the standard battery of exams, vaccinations, and supplements that are required before setting foot on an uncharted wilderness world. He sits, dressed in white patients’ scrubs, on the edge of a cool medical cot, his bare feet dangling in the air. Although he appreciates their necessity, he hates submitting to these examinations. He doesn’t want to hear about his physical deficiencies. His body is... fine. He’s made the best of it. End of discussion.

 

  
An FX-12 droid rolls into the room and gives him a series of prompts, taking his temperature, blood pressure, and resting heart rate. All normal, it informs him cheerfully. He gets up from the cot and stands on the proffered scale. He doesn’t like this part. When the scale beeps, he looks down at the display. Normal, says the droid. On the low end for his height, but not unhealthy. He tries to force himself to eat more, but he’s always forgetting. He tries to make time for exercise. He tries--

 

 

Stop. It’s fine. This is an old, useless fear.

 

 

He steps off the scale. Uno enters the examination room, a datapad tucked under her arm and glances at FX-12’s display. Technically she’s not on duty until gamma shift, but Hux won’t have anyone else prodding at him. Uno’s been his only medic for years. “Readings look normal,” she says. She doesn’t ask him how he’s feeling. She knows better than that. If there’s a problem, he’ll report it to her. “Please have a seat, General,” she says. He hops back up onto the cot.

 

 

“Medical is receiving updates from the ground aren’t you?” he asks. Making conversation? He raises his arms so she can check his lymph nodes for swelling. She steps away from the cot and picks up her datapad, tapping something into it. Her dark hair is parted down the middle, revealing a bright crack of scalp, and secured at the base of her skull in two prim, braided knots. “What are they saying about pathogens?” he asks the back of her head. Uno has, he thinks, some academic interest in biology, which is not true of all medics. And besides-- Hux wants to talk about his planet.

 

 

“Nothing,” she frowns. She sets the datapad back down and disinfects her hands again. “I’m still going to give you the standard injection of course, just in case. But they haven’t found anything new. They say the environment looks ideal for human habitation.” She reaches gently for his jaw, probing the soft underside with her cool fingers. Hux keeps his head perfectly still, blinking when he feels her breath against his face. “It’s a bit suspicious, actually,” she says, raising a sparse eyebrow.

 

 

“What do you mean?” Hux asks, leaning forward slightly. “You think someone made it that way?”

 

 

“I’m told there’s no evidence of previous colonization,” she says. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence...” She trails off, struggling with the safety tab on a single-use xeno inoculation pack. “But I wouldn’t presume to say, General.” With a grunt of effort, she breaks the seal and tears the plastic package open. “I’m not a scientist,” she says. “I know my role, General,” she adds after a few beats. Hux nods. She’s not a scientist, merely a medic. Hux wonders if he’s been treating her like someone above her rank, which would be unfair to her, and contrary to First Principles. These distinctions exist for a reason, he admonishes himself. She is depending on him to lead, not to be her friend.

 

 

Uno takes a single-use injector and a phial of clear fluid from the pack. Hux rolls up the sleeve of his white scrubs so that she can swab his upper arm before inserting the needle and depressing the injector. He flinches, surprised by how badly the fluid burns. “This is a new mixture,” she says. “Your arm will be sore for a few cycles.” She withdraws the needle and hands it off to FX-12 for safe disposal. Hux runs his tongue over the backs of his teeth. Is he already violating First Principles by insisting on only seeing one medic? He’s never thought about it from the medics’ perspective before, but it occurs to him now that they might easily interpret this as a sign of favoritism. That wouldn’t do at all. Uno is certainly competent, but she’s not the single best medic on the _Finalizer_. She probably has no idea why Hux refuses to see anyone but her, and she knows better than to ask. Hux usually doesn’t even allow himself to acknowledge the real reason. It’s not important. So why is he worrying about it now? He’s feeling off today. Emotional.

 

 

It’s because of her eyes. Even when they’re examining him, they manage not to look like they’re evaluating him. He’s fairly certain Uno is only attracted to other women, and that helps a lot. But it’s more than just that. She makes him feel... well no, not comfortable, nothing about this is comfortable. But at least he doesn’t feel like she’s sizing him up. These days, she and Ren are the only people who see him out of uniform, and he’d rather keep it that way.

 

 

She hands him a small plastic cup of white tablets and a tin of room temperature water. “For nausea, vestibular equilibrium, blood thickness,” she lists them off. “Purely precautionary,” she adds.

 

 

“Of course,” Hux nods. He swallows the pills one at a time, washing each of them down with a sip from the tin. Instead of fading, the burning in his arm is growing worse. He figures he should mention this to Uno, but for some reason he doesn’t. Well, for a pretty obvious reason actually. He wants to go down to the planet this afternoon, on schedule, in defiance of Ren’s warning. He doesn’t want to be told there’s some medical reason why he can’t go. Yes. He’s being stupid. _Foolish_ , Ren would say. Ren is fond of that word, fond of over-pronouncing it. For Hux, there is success and failure, clearly defined and easily measurable. For Ren, there is _wisdom_ and _foolishness_ , a vague and constantly shifting standard to which he holds himself and others. Hux wishes he would be more reasonable.

 

 

“Follow ups,” says Uno, tapping on her datapad. “Have you been sleeping well?”

 

 

“Just fine,” says Hux.

 

 

“The recommended two shifts?”

 

 

“No,” Hux rolls his eyes. “One shift. Maybe one and a half.” They’ve been over this so many times.

 

 

Uno pauses to type for a few seconds. “Two shifts are recommend,” she says dryly. “Are you staying hydrated?”

 

 

Hux considers this. “Yes,” he decides.

 

 

“Have your headaches improved? The chills? Muscle soreness?” She peers over the top of the datapad at him. Hux grudgingly shakes his head. “It’s my duty to remind you,” says Uno, “that these are all symptoms of insufficient sleep.”

 

 

“I am aware,” Hux sighs.

 

 

“During your previous examination,” says Uno, “your skin was found to be extremely dry and irritated, with minor tears from scrubbing too vigorously. If they continue to worsen, these small lesions may become infected. I recommended that you apply for a less abrasive soap. The standard issue soap is adequate for most, but those with especially sensitive skin can apply for a milder soap. It’s more strictly rationed because it’s more expensive, but if you fill out the proper form--”

 

 

“I don’t need it,” says Hux, annoyed.

 

 

“If I may, General,” says Uno, “most high ranking officers apply for better food and medical rations. And invariably, they get them.”

 

 

“Even when they don’t need them,” says Hux snidely. “But selfishness is contrary to First Principles. I must be an example to these less scrupulous officers, don’t you think?”

 

 

“As you say, General,” says Uno.

 

 

Hux rolls his shoulders, eager to be through with this tedious, unpleasant business. “Anything else?”

 

 

“No further follow ups,” says Uno, pressing and holding some icon on her datapad until it beeps. “You’re cleared,” she says. She looks back up at him, her gaze as neutral as water.

 

 

“Thank you,” says Hux.

 

 

“It’s my honor, General,” says Uno. “As always.” She turns and leaves him to change back into his uniform, FX-12 rolling along at her heels.

 

 

 

 

Hux’s shuttle lands in a clearing in the middle of the forest, where the troopers have already started setting up camp. “General,” the squad leader salutes him. “We have touchdown. Ambient temperature is 24 degrees Celsius.” She looks down at her wrist-mounted comm. “We’re cleared to exit the craft.”

 

 

“Excellent,” says Hux, cringing at the tinny sound of his own voice through the vocoder. He’s never worn his battle armor often enough to get used to it. He’d be a great deal more comfortable in his regular uniform, but sometimes it’s important to take extra precautions. The cabin is depressurized and the door is lowered. Hux descends the exit ramp, the squad marching behind him in formation. It feels strange and makes him highly conscious of his movements, but at least the armor is relatively lightweight. He wonders what the troopers make of him decked plasteel, his human face concealed behind a strange, droid-like mask. At least it doesn’t make him look like one of them. When he had this suit made, he made sure the design was unique. Matte, graphite plates fit over the standard issue black body glove, and a pair of reflective, bright orange lenses protect his eyes while clearly distinguishing his face from the identical faces of the troopers.

 

 

Hux steps off the exit ramp, the dewy broadgrass crunching under his boots, and looks from side to side. Red line flags mark the perimeter of the small camp. The squad leader shows him to the main tent, which is little more than a rain shield: Sheets of black vinyl stretched over a plasteel frame. Inside there’s long, collapsable table, with plant and soil samples spread out across it. A science officer is stooped over the table, the white hexagon on his black shoulder plate marking his rank. He turns around, saluting clumsily, as though startled by Hux’s appearance. His fist barely reaches above his head. This technically warrants a demerit, as Hux’s rank insignia are clearly visible. But there are more important things to worry about. The science officer reports his findings and it’s just as Uno suggested. The forest environment seems ideal. It’s everything they could have hoped for.

 

 

Hux is pleased. He spends the meeting resisting the urge to rub at his aching upper arm, but the news is all good. The science officer talks him through each of the samples, answering his questions, and after a couple of hours they break for lunch. Hux dismisses the squad and they head back to the shuttle where they can safely remove their helmets and eat their rations. The squad leader seems distressed when he tells her he won’t be joining them, but of course, she has her orders. He wants to explore the perimeter.

 

 

Hux walks to the edge of the camp alone, rubbing at his arm once he figures no one can see him. The injection site itches and burns, even worse than before. He peers into the woods, listening to the chorus of insects and slowly sucking the filtered air through his mask. This world is beautiful, he thinks. That’s hardly the point, but it fills him with pride all the same. Pride and... sadness. Between his childhood on stormy Arkanis and his life in the Unknown Regions of space, he hasn’t exactly had a lot of opportunities to stroll through sunlit meadows admiring the scenery. This place reminds him of the staticky old holos he’s seen of Alderaan before its destruction, or Naboo before the firebombing campaigns. Of course the greedy Republicans had monopolized those rich, green worlds, building their ridiculous palaces on land that could easily have been made to feed billions. But Hux’s planet won’t be that way. His planet-- well, first of all, it needs a name. He tilts his head back as far as the seal on his helmet will allow, gazing up at the dappled light filtering down through the trees. He doesn’t need a palace. He needs nothing for himself. The glory of the First Order is his glory.

 

 

He wishes he could remove his helmet and taste the air, but it’s too dangerous right now. He tilts his chin towards his chest. Wildflowers are scattered at his feet like shrapnel. Do they smell as delicate as they look? Later, when the survey is complete, he will return to this spot and find out. He flexes his hands, trying to resist the urge to scratch at the injection site. He should have mentioned it to Uno. It’s getting worse.

 

 

A snapping sound makes him look back up. A flicker of motion draws his eye back into the woods. “Oh,” he says, startled. A creature, an animal, is watching him from between the trees. Something half way between a dog and a cat, with laughing eyes, and rich orange fur, and a huge broom of a tail. Captivated, he takes a step towards it and it instantly vanishes into the forest, sprinting almost weightlessly on elegant, ink-dipped paws.

 

 

Hux squints after it, but it’s long gone. He flinches as something brushes against his upper arm. A cool, invisible touch, promising to ease the burn.  Promising much more than that.  It calls to him. Longing weakens his knees, and suddenly he's ducking under the line flags and wading alone into the uncharted forest, panting with exhilaration.  By the time his thoughts catch up with him, the clearing is hundreds of meters away.  He stops to catch his breath, bracing himself against a tree.  Looking back over his shoulder, he can see the line flags swaying in the distance. 

 

When he turns his head the creature is right in front of him.  It opens its mouth and gives a high pitched chirping sound that makes his heart skip.  Hux needs air.  The filter in his mask is pointless, he realizes.  The air here is perfectly safe to breath.  He releases the catches in the underside of his helmet and pulls it off, letting it roll to the ground.  He breathes deeply, the smells of the forest filling his lungs, and the creature chirps again in excitement.  It sprints ahead a few meters and stops, waiting for him to follow.  

 

Hux looks frantically back towards the line flags, suddenly remembering Ren's warning.  Ren was right.  This is no ordinary being.  It’s beauty is pulling on him like a magnet. He has to return to camp now.  He's about to start making his way back, when suddenly he realizes he can't.  He can't summon the will.  He can't make his body move in that direction.  Helplessly, he looks back at the creature, his whole being shuddering with the desire to follow it.  To learn its secrets.  

 

He scrambles after it over the knotty ground, but the creature is far too quick for him to catch up with it.  It stops and looks back several times, leading him along, deeper and deeper into the forest, as he struggles to keep up with it.  By the time they emerge into a sunlit glade surrounding a clear pond, Hux is gasping for breath.  The water looks so clean and pure, dotted with pink lilies like kisses, and Hux's throat is burning with thirst from the run.  The creature stands by the edge of the water, its luxurious tail swishing behind it.  Hux finds himself hypnotized by its amber gaze.  It calls to him.  It speaks to him without words, directly into his mind. 

 

 _Drink_ , it coaxes.

 

Unthinkingly, Hux lowers himself to his knees and plants his gloved hands on the shore of the pond, craning his neck in order to drink.  The water is so clean, and cool, and delicious, that it takes him several seconds to ask himself why he's lapping it up like a dog, and another several seconds to realize he's consuming an unidentified fluid on an uncharted wilderness planet. Violently spitting, he tries to get it all out of his mouth. Adrenaline spikes through him and he starts scrambling to his feet, only to be halted by the creature's paw between his shoulder blades. 

 

 _Stay down_ , it says.  Suddenly the paw resting gently on his back is an insurmountable weight.  He can't get up.  In an instant, the fogginess clears from his mind and Hux begins to panic.  The creature nuzzles his side with the top of its head.  _Don't be afraid_ , it coos.  It walks around him, pushing his arms inward so that they line up with his shoulders and bringing his bent legs forward so that his knees line up under his hips.  

 

Once the creature has corrected his posture, Hux feels a strange tug in his muscles and warm tingle in his skin.  Backing away from the edge of the pond, he finds his range of motion extremely limited. The adjustments the creature made to his position have somehow... stuck.  He can't raise his arms and he can't straighten his legs.  He crawls in circles, hyperventilating, trying to get back on his feet.  But no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem get up off of his hands and knees.  The creature pads over to him and starts licking his face, which has grown flushed with effort. It’s tongue is rough like a cat’s, but long like a dog’s.

 

“What are you?” Hux gasps. “How are you doing this?”

 

 _I know why you are here_ , says the creature, not answering either of his questions.  _You come to make war._ It gazes briefly into the water before turning back towards Hux.  _Long ago, I had many worshippers,_ it says.  _Many brought me offerings, leaving them here, beside the sacred water.  But they destroyed this planet in a terrible war-- Destroyed each other, and burned the forests to ash.  Now the forests have grown back, leaving no trace of their once proud civilization.  Now, no one brings me offerings. And yet you dare_ _come to me with your_ _machines of war?_   Hux opens his mouth to argue, but the creature doesn't wait for his reply.  _Millions of others obey your commands._ It shakes its head in condemnation.  _Such control,_ it says. _Such power.  And you use it only to destroy._ Its amber eyes flash with dark mirth. _But now that you have taken a drink of my water,_ it says, _you are mine. I will decide your fate._

 

“Ren said you would exact revenge,” Hux breathes, his heart pounding in terror. 

 

 _Yes._ The creature nods.  _War took my worshippers, my children from me.  And so, I must take something from you._   It licks his face again, and Hux cringes.  _Control,_ it says.  _I will take away your control._

 

“What do you mean?” Hux trembles.  Tears are rolling down his face. 

 

 _I will not take what is truly vital to you,_ it says.  _Your intellect, your memories, your deepest emotions--  I could destroy them all in an instant.  But I am merciful.  I will leave your mind intact._   Hux sobs in confusion and fear.  He wretches with the knowledge that Ren warned him, that he should have listened.  The creature nuzzles him, it's soft fur brushing against his hot cheek.  

 

 _Your body will change,_ it continues, _but you will still recognize yourself.  I will leave the shape you are accustomed to intact.  I will add to it.  But I am merciful.  I will take no_ _vital_ _part away._

 

“Please,” Hux can only whimper, his voice scarcely audible.  “I don't understand.”

 

 _Don't be afraid,_ it says, lapping away his tears with its rough tongue.  _Your punishment will not be as terrible as you imagine.  I do not bring you pain and suffering.  Instead, you will have pleasure.  You will have peace.  I will love you and care for you as my own kit.  When you leave this place, you will begin to change.  You will grow strong, and healthy, and beautiful.  And you will lose your control._

 

“Please, no--” Hux coughs and whines, his chin dripping with tears and mucous.

 

 _You cling to your control so tightly now,_ the creature muses.  _You are convinced that you cannot live without it.  But I promise you, my child.  You will live. You will flourish._ Hux hangs his head, defeated, unable to bear another moment of this gentle suffocation. When he looks down, he notices that tiny blossoms are springing up wherever his tears hit the soil. This is a strange comfort. A wave of drowsiness washes over him. His heart rate is slowing, his limbs growing weak. _Now sleep,_ the creature purrs, and Hux collapses in the dirt, his vision cutting to black.

 

 

 

 

 

When Hux opens his eyes, he’s lying on his side, the broadgrass tickling his cheek. The red line flags are swaying in the breeze above him. He clambers to his feet, hands flying to his face. He’s breathing normally, but his helmet is gone. He whips around, spotting it in the grass behind him. Picking it up, he turns it over in his hands, debating whether or not he should put it back on. The orange lenses flash like cats’ eyes as he tilts it under the shade of the trees. Fuck. He blacked out. What happened? He doesn’t remember removing his helmet. The air seems... fine. But he can’t know whether or not he’s been exposed to some sort of undetected xeno pathogen.

 

 

Checking the chrono embedded in his gauntlet, he finds he’s been out for about twenty minutes, a bit less than a quarter of a shift. He should return to the shuttle. He may or may not require medical attention. But how to explain the removal of his helmet? Could someone have snuck up behind him and-- What? Reached under his jaw, broken the seal, wrested the helmet off of him and then knocked him unconscious? Who? Who would dare? And why? It seems unlikely.

 

 

With trembling hands, Hux places the helmet back on his head and reseals it. He’s just going to-- _fuck --_ he’s just going to head back to the shuttle, and pretend like this never happened. He presses his gloved hands to his chest plate. He feels fine now. It’s fine. His subordinates don’t need to know that he temporarily lost his mind and removed his helmet for no reason. That he-- That he lost control.

 

 

He staggers back into the clearing, breathing deeply and makes his way across the field, straightening his spine and fixing his gait. The burning is gone, he realizes. He reaches across himself to clasp his upper arm, expecting soreness at the injection site, but there’s nothing. It’s healed. He squares his shoulders, his spirits lifting as he approaches the shuttle. He feels good. He’s excited about this project. He feels buoyant, energetic, hungry. By the time he’s reached the shuttle, he’s already put this unexplained incident out of his mind.

 

 

Back on the _Finalizer_ , Hux takes his evening meal in his quarters, reviewing the science officers’ latest reports. The bland, hot porridge provides complete nutrition, if little enjoyment. Setting the datapad flat on his desk as he reads, he finds himself picking up the dish with both hands in order to lick it clean. He knocks back the rest of the water in his tin cup and frowns to himself, moving his tongue around the inside of his mouth. He wants more food. Sometimes he can’t even bring himself to finish the recommended portion, but today, for some reason, he’s feeling extraordinarily hungry. This is a good thing, he reckons. He’s always vaguely trying to gain weight, without actually doing anything about it.

 

 

He gets up from his chair, walking over to the storage cubby next to his bed. He’s got a few ration bars, a bottle of bourbon, and a foil tube of chocolate wafers. He tears open a ration bar, wolfing it down in minutes. The dark green paste of plant matter and protein is sticky and somewhat bitter. It calms his hunger, but does little to satisfy his desire. His gaze comes to rest on the chocolate wafers. He’s been saving them for a special occasion. Well. The colonization of a brand new planet seems as good a cause for celebration as any. He peels back the foil and removes a single wafer, placing it on his tongue to let it dissolve. He’s stunned by just how delicious it tastes. When the sugar hits the back of his throat he feels light-headed. Almost drunk. He takes another wafer between his teeth and carefully folds the foil over the rest of them, placing them back in the cubby for later.

 

 

He settles slowly into his chair, savoring the second wafer. That drunken feeling washes over him again, and he tilts his head back, closing his eyes in pleasure. Sighing, he glances down at the datapad on the desk in front of him. What was he reading again? He can’t remember. It’s not even epsilon shift yet, but already he’s feeling impossibly drowsy. He slumps out of the chair and towards the fresher to pee and scrub his teeth.

 

 

In the fresher mirror, he catches a glimpse of his face. His eyelids are drooping. His complexion is ruddy and his mouth looks bright. Warm to the point of feverish. He staggers back into his bedroom, shucking his stiff uniform. In a blur of peeling back layers and fumbling for clasps, he collapses, exhausted, into bed. He’s accustomed to sleeping flat on his back, but as his consciousness slips he finds himself curling on his side into a fetal position. The feeling of intoxication grows deeper. With a sigh of contentment, he lets sleep swallow him like a great black fish, the warm walls of it’s slick belly closing him in.

 

 

 

 

 

The lights are on an automatic timer. At the beginning of alpha shift, they rise to fifty percent, and halfway through the shift they rise to ninety. Hux yawns, stretching and twisting among the blankets.  He's awake, his eyes still closed, but he can see through his eyelids that the lights are at ninety percent.  He presses a palm to the mattress, preparing to hoist himself out of bed, and stops. He freezes. His eyes snap open. Everything feels strange.  The blankets feel rough against his skin. As if they’ve been replaced, as if they’re not even made of the same material. He slips a hand under his fitted sleep shirt to rub at his belly.  It's so smooth!  He peels the sleep shirt off, tossing it aside, and brings both hands to his chest.  Squirming and rubbing himself, he tries to make sense of what he's feeling.  His skin is so smooth!  The dryness is gone.  The splitting at his knuckles and elbows.  He can't find a single bump, or cut, or patch of roughness.  His skin is like butter.  He hisses when his fingers graze a nipple.  The blankets haven't gotten any coarser.  It's his skin.  It's hyper-sensitized. He must be sick.

 

He rubs at his eyes.  The usual morning blear is absent.  His vision seems stunningly sharp.  Peering over the top of his blankets, he can see everything in dizzying, hyper-detail.  He can see the grain in the brushed metal walls, read the label on his bourbon from across the room.  He looks down at his hands, yelping in surprise.  His fingernails are black.  Cautiously, he presses on them.  There's no pain.  The keratin seems thicker and harder, and the ends are sharp.  While planetside, he must have contracted some sort of fungus.  Much as he hates it, he's going to have to report to medical.  He sighs, taking stock of himself.  He feels strange all over.  Pleasantly strange, he admits to himself.  All the minor aches, and pains, and irritations he's used to dealing with are gone.  His skin feels sleek and flawless, his muscles strong and rested, his mind alert and clear. 

 

Something brushes against the small of his back.  Something so impossibly soft it makes him gasp and shiver.  He twists around and finds what looks like a living mass of orange hair lying beside him.  Some sort of animal?  In his bed?  No.  After a split second's disorientation, he realizes it's--  It's connected to him.  It's a tail, rooted at the base of his spine.  He can feel it squirming among the blankets.  It's connected to his spine, to his nervous system.  He can feel it, but he can't control it.  It's moving of its own accord.  

 

Control.  The word echoes through his mind.  He leaps out of bed and runs to the fresher in nothing but his sleep shorts, the tail spilling out over the top of the waistband. What he finds in the fresher mirror pulls a barbed, strangled noise from his throat.  His ears!  He has furred, pointed animal ears.  Like a cat's ears, but longer.  The fur is orange, a shade darker than his hair, and black at the tips.  And his eyes, they're-- greener?  As he approaches the mirror, stepping out of the light of his bedroom and into the shade of the fresher, they flash like a cat's eyes.  He grips the steel basin, his heart pounding, peering deeper into the mirror.  His irises are layered, reflective, a pellicule of gold embedded in them below the green.

 

The tail tickles the backs of his knees, making him whip around in terror.  It's huge, almost the length of his torso, and wide, tapering to a point like a paintbrush, the thick orange coat giving way to more delicate white furs at the tip.  It's a full limb.  An extra limb.  With weight, and warmth, and blood vessels, and nerves.  He _grew a limb_ in the night. 

 

With a trembling hand, he reaches for the base of the tail, feeling for the place where it plugs into his body.  His vision whites and his toes curl.  Timidly, he tries again.  Touching it--  Touching it produces a powerful shock of pleasure.  He looks down.  At least, his pale legs are the same.  But no.  Not quite the same.  The skin is smoother, the golden hairs finer.  The shape is slightly different, too.  Still slim, but firmer, less angular, ready for running.  He presses his tongue to roof of his mouth, to keep himself from screaming.  His toe nails are black. 

 

Frantic, he starts groping himself all over.  The change is all over.  All his sharp corners have been blunted.  Flesh pads the knobs of his shoulders, the spikes of his elbows.  His arse is rounder.  His muscles are fuller, firm without being hard.  His chest and belly are soft.  His slender figure is uniformly insulated by a thin scrim of fat, which gives him a ripe, supple look, without actually making him seem any bigger than before.

 

 

His heart is beating so hard it hurts. This is impossible. This is terrifying. This is... turning him on? He drops his hands immediately, but the urge to keep rubbing himself is powerful. It feels so good. (It’s a trap.) He covers his mouth with both hands, muffling a shriek of frustration and anguish. What is this? It’s a dream, surely. But no. No, it’s real. This is solid, this is his actual flesh. What the fuck is he going to do?

 

 

Panic throttles him. He dives back into bed, hiding beneath the blankets, his vision exploding with bruise-dark spots. Lying on his side, he brings his knees up to meet his forehead, and the tail curls protectively around his body. His hands knead the mattress, trying to find a way to crawl inside of it. The urge to burrow, to hide, is momentarily consuming. A shrill, distorted-sounding whine issues from the back of his throat. He covers his mouth, but he can’t stifle it. His larynx is vibrating unnaturally. There are new structures, muscles inside of it that, like the tail, won’t obey him.

 

 

Sweat is pouring off of him. Under the covers, he can smell his own fear. He throws them off and sits up, grabbing his sleep shirt and stuffing himself back into it. Hiding from the problem won’t solve anything. He refuses to submit to the bizarre impulse to burrow into his bed like an animal. He sits up straight, like a man, but the whining continues. “Stop!” he cries, driving his sharpened nails into his palms. The whining tapers off. “This is real,” he says aloud to himself, just to hear it. “This is happening.” His voice, at least, sounds the same. Relief pours over him. Whatever mutations have occurred inside his larynx, he can still speak. Remembering his training, he compartmentalizes the emotions this experience is causing in him and initiates a basic cognitive protocol. Panicking: useless. Wallowing: worse than useless. Best course of action: clear.

 

 

He grabs his comm from the shelf above his bed and punches in the code for Medical. “This is General Hux,” he says, pleased at how calm and authoritative he manages to sound. “Put me through to MD-1111.” Holding the comm in one hand, he covers an eye socket with the heel of the other. “Yes,” he says, “I know she’s not on duty. Go find her. Immediately. In fact--” he glances around the room. “Tell her to report directly to my quarters.”

 

 

 

 

Uno stands in the middle of the room with FX-12 rotating aimlessly behind her. She keeps opening her mouth, as if she’s about to say something, and closing it again. The cool neutrality for which Hux has come to rely on her over the years did not survive her first glimpse of his strange new form. Gawking and stammering, she observed as FX-12 took his vitals. And now, well. This is the part where she would normally put her hands on him, but she seems reluctant to do so.

 

 

“What could it be?” asks Hux. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, in nothing but his grey sleep shirt and shorts. “Just start giving me your guesses. There has to be some sort of medical explanation, yes?” Uno’s shock is making him feel defensive. He faces her with his chin up and his back straight, his bizarre transformation on full display. He refuses to cringe and shrink away from her. It’s _her_ job to fix this. _He_ shouldn’t have to be embarrassed just because she doesn’t know how. (He is embarrassed. He’s humiliated. Sweat is pouring down the back of his neck.)

 

 

“Could you have been--” she struggles. “Exposed to something? When you visited the surface?”

 

 

“I took off my helmet,” he says, his eyes widening as he remembers this. “While I was planetside.”

 

 

“ _What?_ ” Uno blurts. “Why would you do that?” She flinches, remembering who she’s talking to. “General, forgive me--”

 

 

“Your insubordination,” Hux hisses, “is the least of my problems right now. Wouldn’t you say?” He studies his lap. (Looking her in the eye is rapidly becoming unbearable.) “I don’t know why I took my helmet off,” he confesses softly. “I briefly lost consciousness, and when I came to, it was on the ground. I can’t explain it.”

 

 

Uno paces the limited floor space, FX-12 whirring excitably behind her. A trio of tiny, rust colored specks on the hem of her sleeve mar her otherwise pristine uniform. Blood splatter? No, too light. Probably iodine. (Superior vision is a change Hux can live with.) “Some sort of... xeno retrovirus?” she suggests. “That caused you to... mutate? This is so far beyond my training, General.”

 

 

“I know,” Hux sighs. He stands, the tail hanging slack behind him. He finds that carefully controlled breathing keeps the ears and tail relatively relaxed and still. Whenever his heart rate increases, they grow excited and start moving uncontrollably. “I know you’re not an expert in xeno biology,” he says. “I called you here because I trust you.” He can feel a blush rising in his face and chest, but continues soberly. “You’ve examined me countless times. You know my medical history. And you’re always discreet. Frankly,” he huffs, “I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.”

 

 

Uno takes a cautious step towards him. “It’s a privilege to be of service, General,” she says. She looks petrified. She doesn’t look like she thinks it’s a privilege at all.

 

 

“Now,” says Hux, briskly, “I realize that a diagnosis may prove elusive. Eventually, I my have to get someone with the proper expertise involved. But for now, the treatment seems obvious.” He pauses, waiting for her to agree with him. “Cut them off,” he prompts, when she doesn’t.

 

 

“Cut...?” Uno balks. “General, I’m not a surgeon, I can’t--”

 

 

“You have broad training,” says Hux, waving dismissively. “In combat medicine, yes? Amputation of limbs? It shouldn’t be too complicated. Just-- Put me under, right here on the desk or something, and cut them off.”

 

 

Uno brings a hand to her mouth in horror. “The ears,” she says, recovering her nerve. “You’ll need prosthetics. I can order them immediately, but it’ll take several cycles to have them completed. If I remove those now,” she points out, “you’ll be walking around with holes in your head.”

 

 

“That’s fine,” says Hux. It’s not fine. That part hadn’t even occurred to him. The notion that he could simply have these unwanted parts removed and be back to normal again has been keeping him sane for the past several hours. But it won’t be that easy. The change is bone-deep. He can feel it. Getting rid of the ears and tail won’t get rid of the strange sensations, the urges. He takes a deep breath, releasing it through his nose. At least, he tells himself, those are invisible. Maybe there are drugs or further procedures that can dampen them. And even if there aren’t-- Hux will master them. He will keep them buried inside. A lifetime of training has prepared him for command. And command begins with self control.

 

 

“They’re perfectly functional,” Uno is saying, her voice beginning to rise. “I can’t remove a healthy organ for purely cosmetic reasons. There are protocols against--”

 

 

“I want them off,” Hux growls. “I want these _things_ off of me right now.” He can feel himself reddening, his eyes burning in frustration. He’s not about to cry in front of her. He’s _not_.

 

 

“Not here,” she says, her face hardening, an edge of anger entering into her voice. “It has to be done in the surgical bay!” Hux opens his mouth to object, and she cuts him off. “General Hux!” she shouts. “As your only medic, for over seven years, I cannot in good conscience do what you’re asking of me. I know why you won’t let anyone else examine you,” she says, quieting. “You’re ashamed. Many people are ashamed of their bodies. I understand. It’s alright. But is your modesty really worth more to you than your life?”

 

 

Hux feels like the breath has been knocked out of him. She knows. His shame, his fear. She’s _seen_ \--

 

 

Uno is trembling, as if she fully expects him to order her execution after saying such a thing to him. But her eyes shine with conviction. “You’re not just a body,” she says. “You’re not like the troopers, like me. The First Order needs you. If you die, you can’t be so easily replaced.”

 

 

Hux blinks back tears. He can feel the ears flattening against his head. “I can hardly lead us to victory like this,” he rasps.

 

 

Uno smiles. It’s the first time Hux has ever seen her smile. “I believe in you,” she says.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The beeping of machines and the smell of bacta are the first things to penetrate the shroud of unconsciousness. Hux is still for a moment, expecting a certain degree of post-surgery soreness. He takes a deep breath, assessing himself, and it freezes in his lungs. The... _appendages_ are still there. He can still feel them. The ears twitch, swiveling adroitly at the close sound of muffled breathing. When he opens his eyes, Ren is looming over him, seated in an aluminum chair at his bedside.

 

 

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Hux rasps, the fading effects of the anesthetic coloring his voice.

 

 

“General,” Ren nods, sharply. “I'm afraid I have some. News. For you.”

 

 

“Where's Uno?” Hux demands.

 

 

“Waiting outside,” says Ren. “I dismissed her. You see, there's nothing she or any other doctor can do for you. I knew you'd be angry when you heard this, so I told her to leave, to spare her from your pointless wrath.”

 

 

Hux grips the cot's metal frame with both hands and hauls himself into a sitting position. “Ren!” he barks. The tail swishes lazily behind him and he grits his teeth, fighting to hold it still. “Look at me!” Ren lowers himself so that Hux is eye to eye with the slit of his mask. “Get my medic back in here and let her do her fucking job,” Hux snarls.

 

 

“I told you,” says Ren softly, “she can't remove your. New parts. She’s already tried.”

 

 

“What do you mean she's _tried?_ ” Hux asks, narrowing his eyes incredulously.

 

 

Ren straightens in his chair. “They are... of the Force,” he says. “An ancient manifestation of its power. One that...” he reduces his voice to a scandalized hush. “Even the Supreme Leader doesn't fully understand.” His gloved hands, Hux notices for the first time, are trembling. “Those parts of you are... perfect. Immutable. You can't just. Lop them off like. Like ordinary flesh.” Ren adjusts his posture, catching himself leaning forward unconsciously. “They are tied to your life-force. As long as you have a living body, those parts will always be attached to it.” He gives the ears and tail a reverent tilt of his helmet, as if some religious compunction prevents him from saying their names.

 

 

A knot of anguish forms at the base of Hux's breastbone. “I don't believe you,” he says. The tail curls around the blade of his hip, stroking his side as if to comfort him, and he bats it away. If Ren is correct-- If he's really stuck like this-- Hux shuts his eyes against the notion. It doesn't bear contemplating.

 

 

Ren stands, tossing the ragged edge of his cowl over his shoulder. “And what happened the last time you didn’t believe me?” he retorts, turning away from Hux’s bedside and disappearing from the room.

 

 

 

 

 

Uno is ignoring his messages. Uno is willfully and brazenly in contempt of her superior, an offense for which she could lose her post and be condemned to menial labor for the rest of her life. Hux is curled up in the middle of his bed, tail wrapped reflexively around his body, refreshing the display on his comm over and over again. He strokes the dial with his thumb, contemplating his smooth, black thumbnail. One call, and he could have her dragged away by troopers at any moment without even having to leave this bed. She is openly defying him. (She doesn’t respect him anymore. And why should she? He can’t even control the high-pitched, whimpering noises coming out of his throat right now. No one will ever respect him again.)

 

 

Hux throws his comm against the wall. Infantile, yes. But the comm is durable, he can’t break it that way. He hurls himself out of bed, standing barefoot in the middle of the floor. He takes a deep breath, puffing his chest out and throwing his shoulders back. The tail changes his center of gravity, but his body seems instinctively to compensate for it. A stately, upright posture comes naturally. His movements are noticeably more fluid and graceful, some unconscious, internal mechanism constantly refining and adjusting his position. He is stronger, quicker, more agile, more flexible. These are all improvements. Staring straight ahead at the wall, he can almost accept that this body is his now. But as soon as he glances back down at himself, he is choked with despair. He looks like a toy, an ornament. Like some painted Nabooan child-queen. With lacquered nails, and soft, white skin, and a tassel of bright plumage right above his arse. Furious, he gives the tail a violent yank, eliciting both a stab of pain and a wave of pleasure. He screams in helpless rage, his eyes welling with tears. The thing is huge. He can’t hide it. What will happen when he walks out on the bridge like this? How will his officers react? He bites the inside of his cheek, quashing this stream of thought and initiating his cognitive protocol. Speculating: pointless. Wallowing: pathetic. Best course of action? His gaze falls upon a leather case on the bottom shelf of his storage cubby.

 

 

The Commandant gave him this knife. It’s an antique, early Imperial, forged from a single piece of stainless Mandalorian steel. He lifts it out of its leather case, running his thumb along the edge of the blade. He’s always kept it for its historical value, never expecting to have a use for it. He removes the whetstone from the case, tilting the blade against it, his heart skipping at the sound. He slides the blade against the stone, pausing intermittently to test it until he’s satisfied that it’s as sharp as possible. Grabbing the bottle of bourbon from the top shelf, he takes both knife and bottle into the fresher.

 

 

A trancelike calm grips him as he uncorks the bottle and holds the blade over the steel basin, using the alcohol to sterilize it. In the small fresher compartment, he finds some bacta and gauze. He’ll have to pack the wound. It’ll take months to fully heal. But it’ll be worth it. He can hide the ears under a cap until prosthetics become available, but this-- This has to come off right here, right now. Taking a stiff swig of the bourbon, he places a thick roll of gauze in his mouth and bites down, holding the knife at the ready. He tries to look over his shoulder to see what he’s doing, but the angle is so awkward that he might as well do it blind. He grips the tail with his free hand, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s so soft, impossibly soft, like nothing else he’s ever touched. His stomach lurches when he thinks of the pain. That horrible whine starts at the back of his throat, vibrating his entire chest and he has to force himself to keep the knife steady. Every splinter and fiber of his body rebels against what he’s about to make it do. Clenching his jaw, he slides the blade under the tail, and jams it up towards the base of his spine.

 

 

Nothing happens. He forces the blade as hard as he can against the underside of the tail, but this has no apparent effect. No blood. No pain. Just a dull pressure, a feeling of coolness, as if he were rubbing a blunt length of metal against his flesh. He looks over his shoulder, watching the blade slide harmlessly back and forth, no matter how much pressure he applies to it. It just... rolls off, like droplets of water off of wax paper. Clenching his teeth around the lump of gauze, he starts frantically sawing at the tail. Nothing. He grabs it and pulls it in front of him, panting in frustration. It’s so soft. He can feel the delicate skin beneath the fur. The knife should easily tear through it. His vision whites with rage, and he starts wildly stabbing at it. Each stab is a dull poke. No blood. No pain. Even the fur can’t be cut. He holds the knife up to the light, tilting it this way and that. It’s razor sharp. Pulling up the hem of his sleep shirt, he slides the blade against the top of his hip bone. The cut is so swift and clean that he scarcely feels it. The blood is bright against his milk white skin. Gasping, hysterical laughter shakes him, and he makes another cut above the first. The blade is sharp. So sharp. It can destroy every other part of him, but the tail, this-- this parasitic growth, this freakish thing. The tail is indestructible. _Of the Force_ , as Ren said.

 

 

His laughter turns to sobbing and he falls back against the cool, metallic wall of the fresher and sinks to the floor, still gripping the knife. The hem of his sleep shirt is riding up, revealing his smooth, white belly. (His weakness is pitiful and disgusting. The weak are playthings of the strong.) He slides the knife bellow his navel, crying out in pain. Pain, at last. (They will devour you. The only thing worse than being weak is being weak and lovely.) He imagines himself standing on a thermal detonator, his body exploding into a bloody pulp, the ears and tail lying in the mess, they alone untouched. _Immutable_ , Ren said. He will never be rid of them. They will mark him forever, a sign of his foolish eagerness, his sentimentality, his pointless desire to walk among the flowers, to feel the warmth of a sun. (There’s no place in the First Order for a delicate boy.) He fumbles for the bourbon on the edge of the basin, taking another swig. He forgets how sticky blood is. It feels dirty on his hands. The ears flatten against his skull in fear as he raises the knife, dragging it over his belly again. Deep this time, too deep. He drops the knife, lurching in pain. He looks down at his torso. (Not so lovely anymore.) The smell of the bourbon is so strong it makes his head swim. His sense of smell is so keen now. All his senses have been enhanced. He’s just a bare nerve now, he thinks. He takes another oblivion-seeking sip, coughing as it burns his throat. He tries to lift the bottle again, but his fingers are slipping. His thoughts are slurring. He hears a cough, a clink, the roaring emptiness of space.

 

 

 

 

When he opens his eyes again, Uno is standing above him, wreathed in white light. He’s lying on a cot in the infirmary, a thin chrome blanket draped over him. _Bed nice_. He yawns contentedly, his head fuzzy. _Yes, rest_. Uno is shining a light in his eyes, making his pupils contract, as she studies his face. She reaches above his head, adjusting the settings on some machine, the hem of her uniform almost brushing his cheek. He can smell her. _Smells like friend._

 

 

“General Hux,” she says, pulling a rolling stool up beside the cot and sitting down. “You were... found. In your quarters,” she says carefully. Hux wriggles weakly, his limbs heavy with sleep. _So nice, good rest._ He frowns, trying to understand what Uno is saying. What does she mean by found? How did he get lost? “There was no scarring,” she says diffidently, lowering her eyelashes. “Applying bacta soon enough usually prevents it. On top of that, your healing is so accelerated that you might not scar at all anymore.”

 

 

“Oh--” Hux sits up in bed, remembering. “Who found--?”

 

 

“I’m sorry,” says Uno. “I couldn’t... hide you. They took you to Medical. Examined you. Quite extensively. Trying to understand your... condition.”

 

 

“You ignored my messages,” he huffs. Alert now, he stretches his arms and rolls his shoulders. “I suppose by now Supreme Leader has replaced me,” he says, growing sullen. “Who is it, Kern? Gods, anyone but Kern.” He purses his lips in disgust. Straightening, he looks Uno in the eye. “When they’re done with their experiments, will they put me out of my misery? Or will they be cruel? I’m sure some Hutt would pay good coin to have me in his zoo.”

 

 

Uno frowns in concern. “Never, General,” she says softly. “I apologize for giving you reason to doubt my loyalty. I defied you. I-- I have no excuse,” she says, worrying her hands in her lap. “The surgery--” she struggles. “The saw wouldn’t cut. I couldn’t understand it. Kylo Ren made me stop. He explained to me that the Force had transformed you. He said I shouldn’t try to interfere.” She shakes her head. “I was afraid. Afraid of Kylo Ren, afraid of what I had seen. I didn’t know what to do. He told me not to answer your messages.”

 

 

“Of course he did,” Hux snorts. He looks at Uno wearily, feeling a surge of fondness towards her. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I don’t hold you responsible for Ren’s meddling. I’m sure you did all you could.”

 

 

“Thank you, General,” she breathes.

 

 

He drags his sharp, black nails against his tender inner-arm, remembering how it felt to make the cuts. No scarring, Uno said. He could do it again. He could do it again and no one would ever have to know. “How many people have seen me?” he asks.

 

 

“I don’t know,” she says. “I wasn’t present for the examination. Kylo Ren made all of them leave afterwards. He said I had to be the one to tell you. He said you’d trust me.”

 

 

“Tell me what?” Hux narrows his eyes.

 

 

“Oh,” Uno blinks. “Tell you what they’ve discovered about you. About your body, I mean.” She picks up her datapad, tapping the screen. The document she’s reading looks long, based on how much scrolling she’s doing. “Sorry,” she says, glancing up at him, “I’m trying to summarize.”

 

 

“Just send it to me and I’ll read it myself,” Hux sighs.

 

 

“Yes, General,” says Uno, frowning down at the document. “Your uniform is on the table,” she says. “They had it cleaned,” she adds after a moment. “I’ll just-- I’ll give you some privacy.” She stands up, nervously smoothing the front of her pale grey medical smock. Hux scrubs a hand over his face. He feels numb. He wants to ask her what they did with the knife.

 

 

“Thank you,” he says, without looking up at her. The ears swivel atop his head, tracking her footsteps out of the infirmary and down the hall into the distance.

 

 

 

 

 

Back in uniform, Hux makes his way to the upper deck. He spent a frustrating quarter of a shift in one of the privacy stalls in the infirmary, trying to figure out how to get his jodhpurs to accommodate the tail before giving in and tearing a hole in the back of them. He’s going to have to have send all of his pants to the laundry to be modified he thinks wearily, watching the lights on the turbolift change with each level. It won’t do to just tear holes in all of them; He’ll have proper eyelets installed.

 

 

The lift halts unexpectedly and his heart lurches with the knowledge that someone is about to see him. But it’s only Ren. Ren enters the lift, letting the doors close behind him before slamming the emergency stop button with the side of his gloved fist. “Hux,” he says. “We need to talk.”

 

 

Hux rolls his eyes. “In here?”

 

 

Ren forges ahead, ignoring the question. “There are several things: First of all,” he tilts his helmet in-- What? Modesty? It’s always hard to get a good read. “I just wanted to reassure you with respect to our. Arrangement. Your new condition doesn’t change anything for me.”

 

 

Hux laughs out loud. “In other words,” he sneers, crossing his arms, “you’re still happy to fuck me like this. Good to know.”

 

 

“Second:” Ren continues, his voice betraying his embarrassment even through the vocoder. “I’ve made a full report to Supreme Leader Snoke.” Hux stiffens. His face remains neutral, but the ears flatten in fear. “It’s alright,” says Ren. “I explained everything to him, and he has no plans to remove you.”

 

 

“Not yet,” Hux sniffs. “We’ll see.”

 

 

“Remember, the Supreme Leader himself is not human,” says Ren. “I know that’s what you’re worried about. Don’t be. The changes themselves will not disqualify you from command. It will depend entirely on how they affect your performance. If you are able to adapt to them, Supreme Leader will not remove you. In fact,” Ren ventures, “he will be extremely impressed.”

 

 

The ears prick up at this information. An ultimatum: success or failure. Hux feels some of the tension leave his body. This is a comfort, something he understands. He has a clear goal now, a chance to triumph over these strange and terrifying circumstances. “I won’t fail,” he says, his gaze fixed on the seam of the closed turbolift doors. The tail is swishing lazily behind him, brushing the cool metal walls of the capsule and sending cold shocks up his spine. Clenching his stomach muscles in effort, he forces the tail to be still. He will master this unruly body, and the challenge will make him stronger than ever. It will be the ultimate test of his resolve.

 

 

“Good,” says Ren, sounding relieved. “I don’t want to have to deal with that fool Kern.”

 

 

“Snoke thinks he’s one of our best,” Hux observes, though their shared hatred of Kern warms him. “Are you saying Supreme Leader Snoke is wrong?”

 

 

Ren’s shoulders tense. Nothing seems to trouble him more than being caught in a contradiction. “Don’t play games with me, Hux,” he snaps. “I’m trying to help you!”

 

  
“Relax,” says Hux, “I’m only teasing.” He scowls at the flashing orange stop button. “As long as we’re spending a little holiday in here,” he says, “why don’t you take that ridiculous thing off your head? I hate having to talk to it.” Ren obeys, unlatching the helmet and shaking out his hair. His lips are faintly purple, Hux notes. He’s been eating that juna berry paste again. Right out of the tube, like a child. “You wouldn’t fuck Kern, would you?” Hux asks. “If he ever did replace me?”

 

 

Ren wrinkles his nose in disgust. “No, of course not.”

 

 

“Good,” says Hux, straightening. He startles, ears flattening, when Ren’s helmet hits the floor of the turbolift with a loud, metallic clang. Ren’s gloved hands hang loose at his sides, having let the helmet slip. His color is rising, his breathing suddenly labored. “What is it?” Hux asks. “What’s wrong with you?”

 

 

“I just--” Ren pants. “You--” Without warning he rushes Hux, flattening him against the wall and jabbing his nose into the soft underside of Hux’s jaw. “You smell so good,” he shudders. Intoxicated, he nuzzles Hux’s throat, fumbling for the clasp of Hux’s belt.

 

 

“What are you doing?” Hux snarls. He shoves Ren’s shoulders as hard as he can and Ren staggers backward, his eyes wide, his mouth open in shock and arousal. A thrill of pleasure shoots down Hux’s spine, all the way down to the tip of his tail. (Yes, _his_ tail now, there’s no getting around it.) He is stronger than Ren now. Much stronger.

 

 

“Yes,” Ren breathes. “I didn’t realize how much.” He sways on his feet, getting ready to throw himself at Hux again.

 

 

“Not here!” Hux hisses.

 

 

“Then stop it!” Ren cries, clenching his fists in an apparent effort to restrain himself. “Oh, I suppose you can’t help it,” he groans. He presses their chests together, nuzzling Hux’s neck and inhaling deeply. _Yes, good. Good touches._ Hux is ready to push him away again, but finds himself drawing Ren closer instead. “You give off-- extremely powerful pheromones,” says Ren, his nose buried in Hux’s hair.

 

 

“What--?” Hux balks.

 

 

“Didn’t MD-1111 explain it all to you?” Ren asks, rocking himself against Hux’s thigh. He’s hard. Charming. “Usually trace amounts,” Ren clarifies. “But right now, it’s pouring off of you. I can-- smell it,” he grunts. He looks ridiculous trying to get himself off like that, but Hux lets him. Even through the gloves, his hands feel so good on Hux’s back and shoulders, rhythmically kneading and petting. “You’re doing this to me,” Ren gasps. “Well-- Not you, the fox.” Ren laughs breathlessly. “I think it likes me.”

 

 

Hux feels himself squirming and arching against Ren’s solid torso, his tail swirling around in excitement. “What’s a fox?” he asks, growing frustrated. His skin is tingling wildly, his heart beginning to race. _Touches good, pets nice._

 

 

“It’s-- a sort of a half dog, half cat creature,” Ren laughs. “But with a big, fluffy tail. They used to have them on Alderaan. I think there are a few populations elsewhere, but they’re extremely rare now.” He seems to be enjoying himself immensely. Standing in a halted turbolift, shamelessly rubbing his engorged prick against Hux’s thigh as if there’s nothing strange about it. Hux would be disgusted, if he weren’t enjoying himself so much, too. “Anyway,” Ren grunts, “that’s what you’ve got in you. A fox. Or the spirit of one.” Hux opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a strange, high-pitched yip. Ren is loosening his collar, kissing his neck, stroking his chest, and he’s utterly helpless against it. He’s so sensitive it’s almost unbearable. Ren kisses him on the mouth, and he can taste the juna berry paste. _Sweet, yum._ Hux starts licking Ren’s face, tasting his skin. He can feel it, exactly what Ren is talking about. The fox, inside of him, making him writhe and whine like-- Like a half dog, half cat thing. It occurs to him, in a distant, third person sort of way, that this ought to be utterly excruciating and humiliating. But it feels so good. His body feels deliciously warm and soft, his heart deliriously light and free. So powerful, and yet so helpless. He is stronger than Ren now, he could through him off at any time-- But the fox doesn’t want to. It wants to give licks and receive pets.

 

 

Ren cries out, pressing his face into Hux’s shoulder. “Did you just come in your pants from smelling me?” Hux rasps.

 

 

“Hux,” Ren breathes. “This is serious.”

 

 

“Oh, _now_ it’s serious?”

 

 

“Yes. Shut up.” Ren pulls him close, stroking his ears, and Hux instantly melts, unable to speak. “See this?” says Ren. “See how easy it is for me to neutralize you, just by petting your ears? This is a serious liability.” Hux struggles weakly, unable to tear himself away. The pleasure is a black hole, its irresistible gravity swallowing his will power completely. “I can help you,” Ren says, cradling him. “The fox is of the Force. I can help you learn to control it.” Hux opens his mouth to reply, but he can’t form words. His throat muscles are spasming, his entire chest vibrating. “You’re purring!” says Ren, delighted. Unable to stop himself, Hux nuzzles Ren’s hand. “It’s alright,” says Ren, smoothing his ears down again and again. “Don’t try to fight it. You won’t be able to suppress it directly. It’s a wild animal. You can’t just yell at it and expect it to obey you. You have to train it.” _So good, so soft._ Hux feels his eyelids drooping, his body relaxing into Ren’s arms. “Just like the Force,” Ren says gently. “Just let it flow through you.”

 

 

Gritting his teeth and clenching his stomach, Hux pulls himself from the edge of the abyss. “You shut up,” he says, shoving Ren off. Ren slams into the wall of the capsule, sliding down the brushed metal surface with a hiss of pain. If anything, Hux thinks, Ren is the wild animal. ‘Train’ him? Please. Hux releases the emergency stop button, allowing the turbolift to resume its course, and steps off onto the upper deck, his tail held high.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Fox Hux Down

On the first day, Hux doesn’t leave his quarters. He tells himself he’s working, pouring over the Science Department report which Uno forwarded to him. It’s not _not_ true. He tosses an empty ration bar wrapper aside, propping his datapad on the edge of the table with one hand and grabbing his caf with the other. The report is extensive, but it offers more questions than answers. They can only observe what’s happened to him, they can’t explain how or why it’s happened. No known class of xeno virus could have caused him to mutate in this way. Nor is there any plausible theory of how to reverse it. Hux doesn’t know enough about molecular biology to fully appreciate the analysis, but it doesn’t take much expertise to see that he’s been radically altered at the cellular level. He takes a sip of his caf and sets it back down on the table with a dull clink. He realizes he still doesn’t quite believe this is happening. Denial, he admonishes himself, is a waste of time. He frowns at the streaks of light on his glazed plastone cup. Things don’t even look the same. The sooner he can accept reality and start making the best of it, the better.

 

  
When he first returned to his quarters yesterday, he found the Commandant’s knife balanced on the edge of the sink in his fresher. Whoever they sent to clean up the blood must have found it lying on the floor, wiped it down, and placed it there. Now it’s back in its leather case on the bottom shelf of Hux’s storage tower. Its presence is an inexplicable comfort. A kind of backup plan. It eases his fear. He takes a great gulp of caf, trying to finish it before it can get too cold. Fear is a waste of time. Strange as it is, his new situation doesn’t have to be terrifying. It has its pros and cons, surely. He turns his focus back to the report, trying to still the flutter in his stomach.

 

 

Uno has taken the initiative of including a new list of medical recommendations at the end of the document. Hux scowls down at his datapad, batting his tail out of the way when it tries to wriggle into his lap like a cat angling for pets. Uno’s upped his recommended sleep interval to between two and a half and three shifts. _Ten to twelve standard hours._ Ridiculous. It’s not often he can spare more than five hours for sleep. She knows this, they’ve been over it countless times. She’s also recommending that he double his calorie intake. Hux’s eyes widen. Can that possibly be right? Is he misreading it? Then again, he decides, it stands to reason that his dramatically increased strength would come with an increased energy requirement.

 

 

After her addendum, Uno has attached a stack of forms, including the applications for milder soap and softer bedding, already bearing her electronic signature. Awfully presumptuous of her, Hux thinks. She’s never dared to press him on anything to this extent before. The pad of Hux’s index finger hovers just above the glass. In order to qualify for these items, a medic has to examine you and affirm that you have a skin condition or allergy serious enough to require special treatment. Of course, the system is relentlessly abused by people who don’t need special treatment at all. Hux scornfully deletes these pages. He refuses to be part of the problem.

 

 

Tearing open another ration bar with his teeth, he scrubs back to the beginning of the document. The weight they’ve listed for him is higher than before, but not by very much. That means his muscles are not significantly heavier. Mysterious. He scrolls towards the middle, looking for the section he noticed earlier about tissue composition. He peruses the chemical hex diagrams that describe what he’s supposedly made out of now, dizzying chains of proteins and lipids configured in ways he doesn’t understand. At least he’s still carbon based. _What a relief_ , he snorts. A shudder passes through him and he stops chewing for a moment, a wad of dried orange fruit paste sticking to the roof of his mouth. Swallowing thickly, he closes his eyes and presses a hand to his belly. He can feel his pulse, steady and strong. He’s still made of flesh, he thinks, momentarily transfixed. His vision reels with flashes of strange gore. It’s just... a different kind of flesh. The feel and texture are different. Without looking, he slips a hand under the hem of his grey sleep shirt to pinch at his soft, stretchy skin. Its elasticity, he reads, makes him excellent at absorbing impacts, and highly resistant to bruising and tearing. He scrolls ahead, pondering this information. Apparently his bones are extremely resistant to breakage, being much harder and more flexible than typical human bones. All of this is going in the pros column. “Well,” he says aloud to the fox, as though it can hear and understand him. “It’s really the least you can do for all the trouble you’re causing me. Consider it your rent.”

 

 

If these special tissues have extremely high energy requirements, then he’s just going to have to find a way to meet them. He’s never had much success forcing himself to eat in the past, but with his appetite so increased it’ll probably be much easier. He scans the label on the empty wrapper of his orange fruit ration bar. It’s highly caloric and nutrient dense. But this is his third one today, and he’s still hungry. No, more than hungry. Unsatisfied. The dried orange fruit flavor is not unpleasant, but it’s nothing to write home about either. He remembers the foil tube of chocolate wafers still sitting in his cubby. They aren’t very nutritious at all, but the thought of them is suddenly appealing. Maybe a few wouldn’t hurt.

 

 

A thrill runs through him, and his tail rubs itself against his leg, squirming in excitement. He grabs it with both hands, trying to wrestle it still. “Calm down,” he says holding the tail in front of his face and shaking it. Negotiating with his tail feels ridiculous, but he’s not sure what else he can do. The fox is in there somewhere, and he has to make it understand that he’s in charge. Now he’s salivating, making tiny, abrupt yipping noises. _Eat yum, eat yum, want yum._ He hugs his tail against his chest, squeezing it hard so that it can’t squirm, the fluffy end of it hitting him it the face. “I know what you want,” he says. “But you have to be still first.” A plaintive whine rises in the back of his throat. That horrible noise is item number one in the cons column. “Shh,” he says, stroking his tail, “calm down.” It falls limp in his lap, basking in the attention. Petting himself feels highly masturbatory, but it’s the only reliable method he’s found so far to get the fox under control. He can feel himself blushing at the sensation, his chest vibrating with purrs. He supposes it’s an improvement over the whining. Still, it’s unacceptable. There has to be something he can do about these... outbursts.

 

 

He picks up his datapad, thumbing it on again, and does a key word search in the document. His vocal apparatus, they claim, is connected to his brain through two separate channels. There’s a long, speculative writeup about his neurological anatomy, but the gist of it is that they have no idea what’s going on with his brain. Not a reassuring thought. A holographic scan of his frontal lobe has the pathways helpfully highlighted in different colors. Just how long did they have him under for anyway, to do all of this? He can’t remember. The datapad falls a few centimeters from Hux’s hand and lands on the table with a clang. Belatedly, he realizes he’s shaking. It hadn’t even occurred to him that his _brain_ might have changed. Although he realizes now it would have to, in order to properly interface with an altered body. He feels stupid for not thinking of this earlier. He strokes his tail absently, soothing himself. His _mind_ doesn’t feel any different, he thinks. But then, if his mind was different, how would he know?

 

 

He tries to make sense of the diagram. Some of the pathways in his motor cortex remain normal, the writeup explains, but most have a redundant copy inscribed on top of them. The function of this shadow neurological architecture isn’t clear. He squints in confusion, until it dawns on him what this must mean. The original set of pathways is him, and the redundant set is the fox. His voice control is different, because instead of overlapping, the channels are split. His speaking voice is completely voluntary, while the strange noises are completely involuntary. A few pathways, such as the ones corresponding to his ears and tail, are also separate, controlled by the fox alone. Almost everything else is inscribed twice.

 

 

In a way, none of this is new information. It corresponds pretty well to what he’s been experiencing. It explains why controlling the tail is next to impossible while controlling, say, his arm is merely a struggle. But he _will_ master it. He is no stranger to struggle. This shouldn’t be as upsetting as it is. He told Ren he would master it. He promised he wouldn’t fail. And so, he won’t fail. He now realizes that Ren’s notion of taming the fox has actually been a great comfort to him. The idea of possessing his own mystical Force spirit is very appealing. But it also presents a problem. The fox is not a glowing cloud of Force magic. It’s not an imaginary friend or invisible pet. It’s real, real enough to show up on scans. It lives in his physical brain and body. He can’t slip an imaginary leash around its imaginary neck.

 

 

Hux presses both hands to his belly, breathing from his diaphragm. The fox is still. And he’s still hungry. “Alright,” he says, nodding to himself. “Good.” He rubs gentle circles under his ribs, purring almost inaudibly. “Behave yourself,” he says, “and we won’t have a problem.” He stands, walking over to his storage tower and grabbing the foil cylinder from the top cubby. Delicately peeling back the foil, he withdraws a single wafer, inspecting it as if for flaws. After a moment’s hesitation, he places it on his tongue. The taste is obscene, he thinks. Nothing should taste this good. It’s downright Republican. It reminds him of the way sweets used to taste when he was a child, before he lost his sweet-tooth and gained a taste for bitter drink. It’s unsettling the way all his senses have changed. But it’s also strangely exhilarating. Everything feels bigger and better. Maybe he craves sweetness now because he needs so many calories. He should check the report.

 

 

This train of thought is swiftly terminated when the sugar hits the back of his throat. A wave of drunkenness sweeps over him and he falls backwards onto his bed, rolling senselessly around and pawing at the air. _Yum good eat, love eat, love yum._ The chocolate slides down his throat and he gasps, the roll of wafers falling from his hand onto the bed. He turns over, gripping himself tightly. “Stop it!” he cries, pressing the side of his face into the mattress, but his legs keep kicking. “Hold still!” Ren is right. It’s a wild animal. It doesn’t take orders. He rolls over, grabbing the wafers and bringing the tube to his mouth, sloppily pulling one out with his teeth. _So yum, eat all._ He feels the fox’s excitement and joy. He feels himself, trapped inside of it. He screams in frustration, and his body stills suddenly, ears flattening in fear. “Oh,” Hux pants. “You don’t like that sound?” He screams louder, and his body shrinks in on itself, tail wrapped tightly around his flank. _Scary! Not nice!_ “That’s what you get,” he says through gritted teeth. “That’s what you get when you disobey me.” He braces his palms against the mattress, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “I am a man,” he says breathlessly, “and you are a beast. I am your master, and you are my pet.” A nervous, high-pitched chirp escapes his throat, which he chooses to interpret as a sign of acquiescence.

 

 

 

 

 

On the second day, Hux wakes to find himself curled into a tight ball, his tail draped over the back of his neck like a scarf. He purrs contentedly, taking a moment to hear, and smell, and feel his surroundings before opening his eyes. The vibration of his chest feels good. (Also, there’s nothing he can do to stop it.) Curling his toes, he squirms against the blankets, hissing quietly at their roughness. He sits up, stretching and yawning, the haze of sleep lifting. The world snaps into focus, and suddenly he’s alert, clear-eyed, bursting with energy. He hops off the bed and stands up straight, flexing his shoulders. He feels fantastic.

 

 

The purring dies down. _Go, run! New day!_ Instead, he gives a few excited yips on his way over to the fresher where he takes a good, long piss. Scrubbing his teeth, he pointedly meets his own strange, reflective eyes in the mirror. Enough wallowing. Today, it’s back to work. Supreme Leader Snoke isn’t going to give him the benefit of the doubt for much longer. He must not allow his personal situation to interrupt his duties. He must prove himself still capable of command.

 

 

He shucks his sleep clothes, making sure they’re turned inside out so that his serial number is visible before tossing them into the laundry chute. (The last time he forgot to turn a shirt inside out, he never got it back, because the daft laundry droids couldn’t find his number.) He slips into a fresh undershirt and shorts, hissing at their starchy texture. _Not so soft. Want soft._ He fidgets, pulling on his stockings, trying to put this minor discomfort out of his head. Before, it was easy to ignore the constant dryness and irritation of his skin. The pounding in his head, the ringing in his ears-- they barely registered. Now... Now he feels present in his body, in a way he didn’t before. He feels... physically alive. It’s extremely inconvenient. He dons his uniform, fastening the new eyelet in the back of his jodhpurs around his tail for the first time. He’s pleasantly surprised by how neat and dignified his tail manages to look in something that’s specifically tailored to accommodate it. (His body fits the uniform again. It belongs. He still belongs.)

 

 

Bending over to fasten his boots, he notices that he can easily fold himself in half, planting both palms on the floor. Before, he couldn’t even touch his toes without straining. He adds this to the list of pros. Jogging back over to the fresher, he takes a plastic comb and a tin of hair wax out of the small storage compartment next to the sink. He lifts the comb up, stopping when he sees himself in the mirror. Oh. He forgot about the ears. They get in the way of his usual part. He takes a deep breath, trying to hang on to the confidence he felt a second ago. He combs his hair back from his forehead, careful to avoid catching on the ears, and uses a bead of wax to keep it in place. It looks... fine, without the part. It’ll take a bit of getting used to, that’s all. It’s still neat, still well within the range of regulation styles. _Smell what is smell?_ He holds the tin of wax up to his nose, contemplating its sharp, petroleum odor. It’s not horrible, it’s just a bit disorienting to suddenly sense all these things he’s never sensed before. He makes a note of it. He’s going to have to be on guard for sensory distractions until he has a better idea of what to expect from his daily routine.

 

 

Sealing the tin and replacing it in the storage compartment, he walks over to the table and picks up his datapad. He glances at the chrono, his eyes widening. It’s almost beta shift. He was asleep for nearly eleven standard hours. Uno would be so proud, he thinks bitterly. Well. Obviously this won’t do in the future. He’s got to get his work schedule back on track.

 

 

He calls an officer meeting in a conference room on the main deck. The officers have already been briefed about his condition. Still, most of them fail to completely conceal their astonishment. Wild rumors are already circulating, he learns. Half the ship thinks he’s dead. (Kern looks disappointed to see him alive, he notes, with some satisfaction.) It’s clear he can’t afford to be absent from the bridge for much longer.

 

 

 

 

 

On the third day, Hux marches out onto the bridge, tail swishing casually behind him, and stands at the viewport, gazing into hyperspace. The pit below the bridge is an ocean of whispers. His ears swivel sharply at the sound of his name, but he can’t make out the details of any one conversation. He doesn’t turn around. He’s just going to proceed as if everything’s fine. Because it _is_ fine. He’ s been standing here a full minute now and he has yet to burst into flames. He watches the stars streak by, enjoying the familiarity of the view. People are staring at him. But the overwhelming shame he felt at first has largely subsided. He’s not sure what to attribute this to. It’s possible that the ability to accept the change is part of the change. _Love self, love body, so soft._ This is going well, he thinks. No one is accusing him of being an imposter. No one is trying to kill him. Although it’s true that members of the First Order spend most of their time around other humans, they are still exposed to aliens. It’s not as if they’ve never seen anyone with a tail before.

 

 

After a good stargaze, he turns around, surveying the bridge. Several heads pivot back towards whatever they were supposed to be looking at. Instead of anger or shame, Hux feels a sort of magnanimous amusement towards them. This is a bad sign. It means he’s in a very good mood. It means he’s probably about to do something stupid. He glances to his right. Unamo appears to be hard at work. Either that, or she’s pretending to work and very pointedly not staring at him. He approaches her console, peering over her shoulder at the display. “What’s this?” he asks.

 

 

“Sir,” she flinches, trying to act normal. “We’ve boarded the last shuttle. There are no more personnel down on the planet.” She stares straight ahead, her shoulders tense. Is she afraid of him? _Don’t worry_ , he feels like joking, _it’s not contagious_. Come to think of it, he has no idea whether or not it’s contagious. It’s entirely possible that without Snoke’s intervention, the Science Department would have him under quarantine. “Unfortunately, some equipment was lost in the evacuation. No word yet about the possibility of a reconnaissance mission.”

 

 

“What are you talking about?” Hux asks, annoyed. He’s gone for a couple of days and--?

 

 

“Kylo Ren ordered a full evacuation of the planet,” says Unamo. “He was acting on intelligence from Science. They determined that the environment was unsafe.” Hux growls, and she whips around to look at him, startled. “Sir?” she asks.

 

 

He straightens himself, embarrassed. “Send me a statement about the equipment,” he sighs. “I want to know what the damage is.” He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, seething with disappointment. He should never have allowed himself to become so emotionally invested in this project to begin with. “Where is Kylo Ren?” he asks.

 

 

“He was here during alpha shift,” she says. “But I believe he retired to his quarters an hour ago. I don’t know if he’s still there.” She looks apologetic. “He usually doesn’t respond to calls from the bridge.”

 

 

“Of course not,” Hux scoffs. “That would make things easier for everyone else. Why would he do that?” He turns, about to go.

 

 

“It’s good to see you looking so well, General,” says Unamo, her eyes trained on the display in front of her. Hux stops, ears swiveling around. He isn’t sure what to say to this. Should he thank her? Pretend he doesn’t know what she’s talking about? Have her arrested for even mentioning it? He opts for ignoring her and hurrying off the bridge.

 

 

Out on the main deck, he enters a turbolift, careful not to let the pneumatic doors close on his tail. Ren is in his quarters. Hux can feel him. He rocks back on his heels, impatient. It suddenly occurs to him that he hasn’t eaten anything today. Hunger makes him anxious, strains his control. He’s going to have to start setting an alarm or something to remind him to eat first thing in the morning.

 

 

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he approaches Ren’s door. He slams the call button, his tail whisking back and forth impatiently. Ren opens the door, peering over Hux’s shoulder as if to make sure there’s no one behind him before looking Hux in the eye. “Are you on duty?” he asks. His mouth is purple, and his breath smells sweet. “Already?” He looks concerned.

 

 

“Of course I am,” says Hux, defensive. “Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of faffing about in my quarters all day.”

 

 

Ren raises an eyebrow. “Do you think that’s wise?”

 

 

“I am complying with Supreme Leader Snoke’s directive,” says Hux, pushing past him into the room. “Which I received from _you_.” He’s only been in here a handful of times, and each time, he’s freshly taken aback by Ren’s bizarre lack of furniture. Instead of sitting at a desk like a civilized person, Ren sits crosslegged on a zabuton cushion in front of a low tea table. His bed is a simple pallet on the floor, at the foot of which a ceramic basin gives off curls of herbal vapor. Hux is reminded of why they don’t fuck in this room. There’s austerity, and then there’s passing out on the floor like you just spent your last credit on a gram of spice.

 

 

The door closes automatically, and Ren sits back down on his zabuton. A black plastone cup and a silver package of food rations are placed on the low table beside him. Hux wrinkles his nose. He can actually smell the bitter leaves in Ren’s cup from across the room, as well as the juna berry paste that Ren’s been squeezing from an aluminum tube into his mouth like dental scrub. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Ren asks, smirking into his tea.

 

 

“You do realize that stuff is concentrated,” says Hux, distracted. “You’re supposed to mix it into water, not just suck it straight out of the tube.”

 

 

Ren shrugs. “I like it this way,” he says. He nods at a second zabuton on the opposite side of the table. “Do you want to sit?”

 

 

Hux narrows his eyes. “You ordered an evacuation,” he says. He walks around the table and lowers himself to the floor, imitating Ren’s crosslegged pose so that they are eye to eye.

 

 

“I had to,” says Ren. “Do you want everyone else to catch what you’ve got?”

 

 

“You didn’t tell me.” Hux glares.

 

 

Ren is suddenly quite interested in the ceiling. “I didn’t want to interrupt your recovery,” he says.

 

 

Hux grabs the cup out of his hand, setting it down on the table. “Why are you always trying to sabotage me?” he snarls. “What the fuck is the point?”

 

 

“I’m trying to help you,” says Ren. “You have to give up on this colonization idea. The being who did this to you,” he indicates Hux’s ears, “is very powerful. The First Order cannot afford to antagonize it.”

 

 

“You are not in charge of this project,” says Hux. “It’s not your call to make.”

 

 

Ren picks up the tube of juna berry paste and brings it to his mouth, sucking contemplatively. “Are you hungry?” he asks. “You seem hungry.” He rummages around in the silver package. “I’ve got some salt biscuits... Some orange fruit bars...”

 

 

Hux snatches the package from his hands and starts unwrapping things at random. “Quit trying to distract me,” he says around a mouthful of biscuit dough. He swallows, angrily. “It’s not going to work.”

 

 

Ren finishes his tea, putting the empty cup aside, and reaches for the top of Hux’s head. “Are you sure about that?” he asks. Hux slumps over, laying his head on the table as Ren strokes behind his ears. _Pets pets pets._ He struggles against it, but his limbs feel so heavy-- It’s like swimming in honey. He can’t even keep his eyes open. Everything has slowed down. “They’re so soft,” Ren marvels, working the ears between his fingers. His hair is going to be a mess, Hux realizes. He moves his lips but no words come out. He’s purring. He can’t speak.

 

 

 _Stop it!_ he projects.

 

 

Ren laughs. “Make me.” He reaches across the table, laying both of his hands on Hux’s head. Hux nuzzles his palms, becoming lost in the feeling. _Pets, need pets. Need more._ Hux starts crawling on his hands and knees around the table Ren guides Hux’s head into his lap, never pausing in his petting. Hux curls up on the floor, resting his cheek against Ren’s thigh. “What are you going to do about this?” Ren asks. Hux nudges Ren’s belly with the top of his head, purring louder. Ren is saying something else, but he’s not paying attention. He wants to lie here having his ears fondled forever. It feels so good he can’t even remember what he was angry about. How could he have been angry at Ren, who gives such nice pets? “I know you think the First Order will collapse without you in a matter of hours,” says Ren, “but that isn’t literally the case. You should go on sick leave. It’s very important that you learn how to control yourself. I can look after things until you do.”

 

  
Hux shoves Ren off his zabuton and Ren goes flying, the back of his skull knocking against the floor. “You’d like that wouldn’t you,” says Hux. “You don’t want to get rid of me, you just want to keep me under your thumb, is that it?” Ren rolls over onto his side, groaning in pain. “You think just because I let you fuck me--”

 

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Ren hisses. He sits up, clutching his head and pouting darkly. “I’m trying to help you. Why don’t you believe me?” Hux kneels beside the table catching his breath, his face burning in humiliation. Does Ren really think making him lose control like that is helpful? It’s possible, actually. Come to think of it, he’s never known Ren to lie. He sits back down and unwraps another biscuit, chewing impassively and watching as Ren crawls back over to the table.

 

 

“ _Stop_ trying to help me,” he says.

 

 

Ren turns his nose towards his shoulder, scrunching his mouth. “Can I at least tell you what I think?” he asks after a minute. Hux ignores him, reading the nutrition label on the empty salt biscuit wrapper. “I can feel it,” says Ren. “You think of it as a separate mind, but it’s not. It’s a part of your mind, you’re just keeping it very compartmentalized.” Hux looks up at him, his heart skipping. This isn’t what he wants to hear. “It wants attention,” says Ren. “You can’t just ignore it. In the long term, you’ll just end up making things worse.”

 

 

“What are you talking about?” asks Hux. He tosses the biscuit wrapper and it falls off the edge of the table.

 

 

Ren narrows his eyes incredulously. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about,” he says. _Pets, yes. Such a nice friend,_ _he_ _gives nice pets._

 

 

Hux stares past Ren’s head, pressing his nails into his palms. The thought of hands in his hair is momentarily consuming. “I wish you wouldn’t speak in riddles,” he says, getting up to leave. This meeting was pointless. He doesn’t need Ren’s help. He’ll find another way.

 

 

 

 

Uno folds her hands on top of her lap, visibly considering how to put something diplomatically. There’s a haze of concern over her eyes that wouldn’t have been there before. She’s become a lot more relaxed in front of him lately. Hux is annoyed with himself for letting her get away with it. At the same time, he finds he doesn’t miss her blankness. “I could refer you to physical therapy,” she offers. Hux scowls. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, General,” she says. “People returning from combat situations often require special--”

 

 

“That’s not what this is,” says Hux. “It’s not an injury.”

 

 

“Even so,” says Uno, shifting uncomfortably on her stool. “A medic who specializes in physical therapy might be better qualified to handle--”

 

 

“Oh,” Hux startles. He blinks at her. “No! I’m not asking you to do that.” The thought of Uno petting him has to be quashed immediately before it takes hold. He finds he does... trust her. It’s all to easy for that feeling to feed into it. _Nice friend?? Why no pets???_ His ears droop in disappointment. “I don’t need anyone to do that,” he says. “What I need is a way to get rid of the desire in the first place.”

 

 

Uno looks dubious. “I could try proscribing you a dopamine inhibitor,” she says, making a few short strokes on her datapad. “They’re used to suppress impulsive behaviors. But I can’t give you that and the stims at the same time. They don’t interact well.”

 

 

Hux leans back on his hands, his legs dangling over the edge of the cot. “How do you know?” he asks. “Maybe things like that can’t hurt me anymore.”

 

 

“Strictly speaking,” says Uno, glancing up at him, “no one knows what kinds off effects these drugs might have on your physiology. _That’s_ an argument against prescribing you anything at all.”

 

 

“Fine,” Hux grumbles. “Just give me the stims.” He leans forward, trapping his hands between his thighs. “Staying awake is my first priority.”

 

 

Uno hops down off the stool and tucks her datapad under one arm. Pulling a pin from her hair, she recaptures a few loose strands and sticks it back in, securing the braided knot behind her ear. She turns and walks over to a cabinet against the wall, typing in a seven digit key. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that, General,” she sighs, her back turned towards him as she peruses the shelves. “Because technically, I’m obligated to refuse to prescribe you something after you’ve just told me you intend to abuse it.” She walks back over to the cot, handing Hux a blister pack of round, orange pills. “Never take more than two in a day,” she says. “Use your thumbs to press them through the foil.” She pantomimes pressing the tablets through the foil. Hux watches her hands, large for a woman’s hands, with neat, oval nails. “I would never want to insult your intelligence, Sir,” she smirks. “But I have to tell everyone this. I’m also supposed to tell you to make sure you don’t accidentally swallow the foil.” Hux nods, barely paying attention. He’s imagining her strong hands stroking his ears. Her neat nails scratching behind them. “Follow ups,” says Uno, swiping at her screen. “Did you read my recommendations?”

 

 

“Yes.” Hux shakes himself, trying to snap out of it.

 

 

“Good,” she says, scrolling through the list. “How have you been eating? Are you getting enough calories?”

 

 

“Yes,” he straightens, feeling strangely proud of himself for actually getting a check mark this time.

 

 

“And your sleep?” She frowns. Hux opens his mouth, about to protest. “I’ll just say you’re getting the recommended three shifts.” She gives him another check. “And we’ll pretend you have a completely unrelated reason to be taking stims.”

 

 

“That’s twelve standard hours,” Hux scowls. “It’s completely unreasonable. It’s not going to happen.”

 

 

Uno looks pensive. “Can I tell you something about myself you may not know, Sir?” she asks.

 

 

Hux raises an eyebrow. This sounds like dangerous territory. He should say no. In fact, he should reprimand her. They are probably already in violation of First Principles. “Alright,” he says, instead.

 

 

“I have an autoimmune disorder that prevents me from eating most common grains,” says Uno. “Because of this, I can’t eat standard rations. I almost never enter the mess hall. Everything I eat has to be prepared separately, to prevent cross-contamination. Even in trace amounts, grains and grain-based foods can give me seizures. I don’t think it’s reasonable at all. But it’s the way my body works.” Hux frowns, trying to determine what he’s feeling. He’s never imagined Uno’s life outside of their appointments before. “It’s actually the reason I became interested in biology in the first place,” she says. “I was originally recommended for engineering, but I requested permission to train as a medic instead.” Hux wonders if she is isolated from the other medics. She doesn’t seem terribly ashamed of her weakness. Even if it wasn’t deemed severe enough to disqualify her from service, it seems like something that shouldn’t be spoken of. Hux allows that perhaps the standards of Order are different within the medical corps. After all, they are privy to everyone else’s physical defects.

 

 

“I’m not going to start spending half my time asleep,” says Hux. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t afford to.” He looks away from her, unable to fully conceal his fear. “If my performance suffers from this,” he says softly, “the Supreme Leader _will_ remove me. You already know that.”

 

 

Uno nods. “Yes, General,” she says gravely. She glances down at her screen and then closes her eyes for a moment. “What about the forms I sent you?” she asks, looking back up at him. Hux’s ears twitch, but he doesn’t meet her gaze. “Well,” she says, typing a note for herself, “let me know if you change your mind.”

 

 

After an early morning appointment with Uno and a long day on the bridge, Hux returns to his quarters, distracted and tired. He strips out of his uniform, relieved to be free of it, and pulls on his sleep clothes. He feels bruised all over. His flesh aches. _Why no pets? Need touches, need pets._ He trudges over to the table and sits down to read through his messages, but after a few minutes he starts fidgeting in his chair, unable to focus. He keeps looking up from his datapad to study his bed. Something about it is bothering him. He rubs his eyes wearily, trying to figure out what the problem is. His living space looks to be in order. He has all the standard furnishings: A table, two chairs, a storage tower. A metal platform juts from the back wall, with a mattress on top of it and two sets of drawers for clothing and supplies underneath. His quarters are compact, efficient, clean. _Not so cozy..._

 

 

A strange impulse seizes him and he puts his datapad down on the table and walks over to the bed. For some reason, he can’t bear this arrangement anymore. Something is telling him he has to invert it. He pulls the two sets of drawers out from under the platform, and then pulls his mattress off the top, propping it against the wall. Before, they might have been too heavy for him, but now he easily lifts the storage drawers and places them on top of the platform. Grabbing his mattress, he lays it down on the floor and slides it underneath, so that the platform covers it like an awning. Stepping back to survey his handiwork, Hux realizes how ridiculous this would look to an outside observer. Thankfully, his quarters are the one place where he enjoys real privacy. His instincts are telling him he needs to sleep close to the ground, with something covering him for protection. _Build den, nice cozy den._ It actually looks surprisingly inviting. _Nice, cozy, secret._ He thinks about the forms Uno sent him. Would it be possible to order more pillows and blankets? _More, better, soft._ He shakes himself, remembering why he deleted the forms in the first place. He tries to initiate his cognitive protocol, but he can’t maintain his focus long enough. At this rate, he’s never going to get through his messages. He marches over to the table and picks up his datapad, tilting the black screen under the light. _Hide in den, bring treasure back to den._ He sighs, looking back over his shoulder towards the mattress on the floor. If it will calm this restless feeling and allow him to focus, then maybe it’s a worthwhile compromise.

 

 

Ducking under the platform, he sits crosslegged in the center of the mattress, propping his datapad on a pillow in his lap. It looks like he doesn’t have too many messages to worry about after all. He reads through them quickly, answering a few of them and sorting the rest into folders. He realizes he’s anxious and bored when he finds himself refreshing his feed from the bridge over and over again. With the colonization project on hold, he doesn’t have very much to do but wait for further instructions from Supreme Leader Snoke. He drums his claws against the glass, his blood thrumming with dread. As much as he hates to admit it, Ren is right: The fleet can maintain itself just fine while idling in space. His real mission now is to make himself presentable for when Snoke _does_ contact them again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Over the course of the next several weeks, Hux tries to reestablish a proper routine. It doesn’t exactly go as planned. First of all, the sleep situation is proving to be intractable. Try as he might, he can’t stay awake for more than three and a half shits at a stretch. Caf and stims make him jittery, but they do little to stop him from falling unconscious at more or less the same time every day. More than once, he blacks out at his desk in the middle of checking his evening messages, only to wake up curled in a tight ball on his mattress, his tail wrapped protectively around him, some ten to twelve standard hours later. Alert and full of energy from the moment he opens his eyes, he leaps out of bed cursing his chrono and stomps over to the fresher. Instead of ration bars, he switches to protein drinks which are easier and faster to consume, sucking down as many calories as possible before leaving his quarters for the day.

 

 

He finds his focus and control are strongest early in the morning after he’s eaten, deteriorating as he grows tired and hungry over the course of the day. He starts scheduling officer meetings early, when his mind feels incredibly quick and clear, and he can absorb large amounts of information at once. He’s able to get a great deal of work done during his first shift, before restlessness sets in early in the evening. In fact, he’s so productive during these hours, that he can almost make up for the extra hours lost to sleep.

 

 

One thing he’s learned is that Uno was right. Constant headaches and fatigue were slowing his mind after all. His ability to compartmentalize physical discomfort didn’t actually stop it from affecting him; It merely rendered him oblivious to its effects. He should have started taking her advice more seriously years ago. This is hard for him to swallow at first, but the evidence is impossible for him to ignore. After the first week, he relents and asks her to send him the forms again. Instead of the standard dry white soap flakes that leave his skin itchy and red, he starts using a gentle liquid cleanser. The clear syrup makes a good lather and can be used sparingly, so it doesn’t feel like _too_ much of a waste. He also receives new pillows, sheets, blankets, and sleep clothes. The soft, hypoallergenic fabric is a slightly paler shade of grey than the standard issue. A becoming color on him, he thinks guiltily. He takes to wearing a soft shirt and shorts under his uniform, which does a great deal to alleviate the foxlike urge to rip it off with his teeth.

 

 

Out on the bridge, people avoid running into his tail like their lives depend on it. They are careful never to get caught staring at him, or in any way drawing attention to his foxness. He couldn’t have hoped for a better reaction from the crew, all things considered. Ren claims his “pheromones” are influencing people to like and accept him, a hypothesis Hux does not care to examine very closely. If the bridge crew seems a bit too pleased to see him at times, then at least no one aside from Ren has tried to hump his leg.

 

 

The real problem are the perverted fantasies Hux has begun to entertain. Several times a day, he catches himself staring at someone’s hands while they work, and imagining them stroking his ears instead of a keyboard. Perhaps smoothing his hair away from his forehead or gently scratching him under the chin. This is no one’s fault but his own. It’s his responsibility to cultivate the proper emotional distance from his subordinates. If he can’t do that, he is failing them.

 

 

Follow-ups with Uno provide little insight, and nothing she prescribes him does anything to dampen his hunger for pets. He feels increasingly bereft and empty. By the second week, the vivid fantasy of being stroked and coddled is constantly on his mind. Alone in his quarters, he lies on his back, rubbing his belly and playing with his tail in order to soothe himself, but this is only a temporary relief. He needs someone else to do it. The thought of calling Ren occurs to him more than once, but he pushes it away. _That_ would be admitting defeat.

 

 

 

 

 

On the twenty-second day since this whole farce began, Hux finally falls apart. That morning, he can’t bring himself to eat anything. Swallowing is too painful. After struggling into his uniform, he drags himself to the bridge where he stands at the viewport, refusing to look directly at anyone. His entire body aches, and he constantly feels on the verge of crying. When Petty Officer Unamo accidentally brushes against his tail on the way over to her console, Hux grinds his teeth, emitting a horrible high-pitched whine.

 

 

“Excuse me, General,” she says, whirling around in surprise. Hux looks at her, blinking rapidly, his eyes welling with tears. He needs pets. He needs pets _right now_. He feels like he’s dying. “Sir?” Unamo asks, concerned. Whining softly, Hux squeezes his eyes shut. He wants to ask her for pets, but he knows he can’t. It’s not proper. It’s not permitted. He takes a deep breath, pushing the heartbreak he feels down into his belly where it sits like a stone. “You are excused, Officer,” he says. “Mind your station.” He needs to get out of here, immediately. _Need pets, need touches. Where are nice friend-hands? Where did they go?_

 

 

Back in his quarters, he crawls into bed and collapses, shaking with sobs. He can’t bear it anymore. He doesn’t know what to do. Wriggling out of his uniform, he climbs under the blankets in nothing but his undershirt and shorts and folds a pillow over his head. A shrill, warbling cry erupts from his throat. He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to stifle it, but it’s no use. The sound of his own strange, dog-like weeping only intensifies his anguish. Crying is such a decadent waste of energy. He turns his face against the mattress, muffling a scream, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He can’t stop.

 

 

His emotions are out of control, and in a perverse way, he’s almost beginning to relish it. He feels like he’s watching himself from the outside, looking down on this pathetic creature that can’t stop weeping, and it feels strangely good. He’s built up so much momentum now, he feels like he’s floating. Growing lightheaded, he takes a deep breath and starts sobbing harder even harder. Star fields bloom and burst behind his eyes, the sound of his own voice seeming farther and farther away as he rushes into the void. As his emotions peak, he feels something very strange happen inside of him. It’s as if a switch has flipped inside his brain. Suddenly, everything feels different. Balance, motion, gravity, light and sound-- reality itself seems to have shifted. His senses are in overdrive, his body is tingling all over, as if that last spike of adrenaline somehow propelled him into a higher quantum state of foxness. _Pets, find pets._ He’s gone too far. He doesn’t know how to climb back down. _Stop doing other things, only seek pets. Pets first, nothing else until after pets._

 

 

He crawls out of bed on his hands and knees with the vague idea of going somewhere. Spotting his datapad on the table, he starts to reach for it, only to realize he’s still on the floor. Confused, he crawls around in a circle, following his tail. He can’t stand up, he realizes. Every time he pushes his hands against the floor, he just rocks back on his knees and then falls forward again. He rolls over onto his back and starts pawing at the air, his arms and thighs sticking straight up at a ninety degree angle from his torso. His muscles are completely relaxed, and yet he can’t put them down. By some unknown mechanism, they are locked in place. Firmly and confidently, as if this were a perfectly healthy and natural function of his limbs. No matter how he grunts and thrashes, he can’t get out of this position. Flushed and tingling all over, he crawls around the room on his hands and knees, the unspeakable indignity of it only serving to heighten his feverish arousal. His skin is hyper-sensitized, aching to be touched, and his movement is restricted so that if someone were petting him he wouldn’t be able to do much of anything but take it. His face burns in mixed shame and pleasure at the thought.

 

 

Minutes pass, as he crawls in circles, sniffing the floor, his tail swaying high in the air. Not being able to do anything is quickly becoming very boring. He can’t reach the control panel on the door, and even if he could, he wouldn’t be caught dead crawling on all fours down the hallway outside. Closing his eyes, he tries to picture the switch that’s been flipped inside his mind. He can see it, but he can’t reach it.

 

 

Just when he’s about to start panicking, he hears the call signal. It’s Ren. Hux can smell him. The signal chimes a second time. “Hux? I know you’re in there,” says Ren, over the intercom. Hux whines, pressing his face against his shoulder. The door opens, and Ren steps into the room. There’s nowhere to hide. “Hux?” He removes his helmet and tucks it under his arm, glancing around. “There you are,” he says, looking down. He steps into the center of the floor, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “I sensed I might be needed here.”

 

 

Hux glares up it him, his skin burning. “What do you want?” he asks petulantly. He can smell Ren’s musk, and for that, he is already lost. Ren approaches and Hux crawls towards him, mindlessly nuzzling his leg like a giant cat. He can’t help it. It feels so good. He’s stuck in this mode, and he doesn’t know how to get out of it, how to flip the switch back.

 

 

Ren blinks down at him in surprise. “Oh no,” he says. “No wonder you’ve been hiding out in here. You’ve really lost it, haven’t you?” Hux doesn’t respond. He tries and tries to get up, but it’s no use. At least there’s nothing Ren can say or do to make this any worse, he thinks dryly. It’s pretty much impossible for him to be humiliated any further than this. “I felt something happening to you,” says Ren. “What was it?”

 

 

“I thought you were the expert,” says Hux. His tail moves back and forth, caressing Ren’s side.

 

 

“You’re in some sort of. Altered state,” says Ren. “When people are hallucinating or on drugs, their minds feel different.” He bends down, his long tabards piling around his feet. “This is something else, though,” he says, pondering. Hux glances at him. Ren looks extremely pleased. Hux grits his teeth, tilting his burning face against Ren’s knee. “Don’t worry,” says Ren, holding his hand above Hux’s head, divining. “It’s temporary. You’ve worked yourself up into this... state. You’ll be stuck this way until you satisfy it, but then you’ll go back to normal. Well--” he appends, “back to what’s normal for you now.”

 

 

“How do you know?” Hux rasps. Ren’s nearness is driving him insane. He needs something to happen. Anything!

 

 

“I’ve told you,” says Ren. “I can feel it. It wants attention. When you try to ignore it, it just keeps building. Eventually you cross a certain threshold, and you end up like this. But it’s easily preventable. If you just give it regular attention, I think you’ll be fine.”

 

 

“Fine?” Hux spits, his excitement shading over into anger. “Under no circumstances would this ever be fine.”

 

 

“Are you going to accept my help now?” Ren asks, mockingly patting the top of Hux’s head.

 

 

“Shut up,” Hux hisses, wishing for the wherewithal to bite off Ren’s fingers. His heart is trip-hammering. He can feel his blood drugging him, a tingle of arousal running from the base of his skull to the tip of his tail. In this state, a few pats are enough to make him painfully hard. He wants _more_. His lungs ache with tension.

 

 

Ren drops forward onto all fours so that they’re eye to eye. He cocks his head playfully. “Look at you,” he grins.

 

 

“Keep talking,” says Hux. “Have your fun. I’m going to rip your throat out.”

 

 

“It’s just going to keep getting worse,” says Ren, laughing. “Why are you like this? You’re so stubborn.” He sits up, tossing his raggedy cowl back over one shoulder.

 

 

“I hate you,” Hux gasps, his breath shortening. “I hate you so much.”

 

 

Ren’s smile vanishes. “You’ve let me touch you before,” he says, mildly wounded. “Why not now, when you actually need it?” He looks away. At times, Hux can’t believe how childish Ren’s thinking is. How can he fail to appreciate the difference between wanting it and needing it? Doesn’t he know how terrible it is to need things? “I tried to warn you in the first place,” says Ren. “But you didn’t listen.” His expression darkens, turning from amusement to schadenfreude. “You are foolish not to heed my advice,” he says. His pupils are dilated. The pheromones have begun to affect him. Hux turns to crawl back under the platform but Ren grabs him by the waist from behind. “Wait,” Ren breathes. “Trust me.” He drapes himself over Hux’s back, resting the side of his face between Hux’s shoulder blades and squeezing him under the ribs. For a few moments, he lies perfectly still, and Hux can feel his heartbeat. Hux finds his weight easy to support, even pleasant. Like a heavy, breathing blanket. Ren shifts closer, his erection poking the back of Hux’s thigh. Hux’s tail writhes impatiently, caught between their four legs.

 

 

“Well?” Hux pants. “Are you going to fuck me now or what?” He lifts his hips, trying to get Ren to move. “I want it. Alright? Is that what you’re waiting for?”

 

 

Ren chuckles, his low voice resonating through Hux’s bones. “Yes,” he says. “You could be a little nicer, though.” He reaches down to grab Hux’s sleep shirt by the hem and starts slowly paring it away. “You could admit that I was right. You could stop trying to control everything, and trust me for once.” He pulls the shirt over Hux’s head, tossing it aside, and lays his cheek against Hux’s bare back, breathing in his scent.

 

 

Hux whines. He is strong enough to throw Ren off at any moment. He could easily flip him over and pin him to the ground. But he can’t convince his body to do either of these things. The promise of pets holds him captive. “Fine,” he chokes out. “You were right. Now get on with it!”

 

 

Ren’s hands move lazily over his torso, stopping to massage his nipples, and Hux yips loudly, his skin glowing pink with frustration and pleasure. “I don’t know,” Ren hums. “I think I’d be remiss if I didn’t torment you, at least a little bit. Otherwise, how will you ever learn your lesson?” Bracketing Hux’s hips with his legs he stoops to kiss along the edge of Hux’s shoulder blade. Hux squirms and yips, unable to speak. Suddenly, Ren pulls away and sits back on his heels.

 

 

“Please--” Hux gasps. “Ren, _please_ \--”

 

 

“Shh,” says Ren. “Patience.” Hux shudders, a bright lacquer of sweat cooling on his skin. He can hear Ren undressing behind him. When Ren drapes himself over Hux’s back again, covering Hux’s body with his own, he is fully naked. He finds Hux’s nipples again, rubbing them in tiny, controlled circles. This is pure torture. Hux feels like he’s exploding in slow motion. Ren’s hands move slowly and rhythmically over his body, petting every centimeter of him, and Hux is desperate for it to stop, or go faster, or anything-- But there is nothing he can do. His arms are locked in place, palms planted on the floor, unable to swat Ren’s hands away or return their caresses with his own. His chest, his flanks, his belly, his shoulders-- Each part of him receives Ren’s attention in turn. Pleasure is flooding into him from every direction and Hux can do nothing to block it. Distantly, he hears himself making bizarre, wounded noises.

 

 

“You smell so good,” Ren shudders, nosing the back of his neck. Hux’s tail wriggles between them, teasing Ren’s belly. “Oh--!” says Ren, delighted. “It’s so soft! I can’t believe how soft you are.” He rubs his face senselessly against Hux’s skin, his control faltering and his hips beginning to move. Catching himself, he stills and sits back on his heels again. This time, Hux can’t even manage to say ‘please.’ When he tries to beg, all that comes out is whimpering and gekkering. Ren pulls down Hux’s shorts and works them over his legs, leaving him fully naked at last. “Your skin is so perfect,” Ren marvels, rubbing his arse. “Softer than anything... It doesn’t seem real.” He stands abruptly, walking over to the fresher and returning with the phial of lube Hux keeps in the compartment next to the sink. Hux crawls towards him, rubbing his tail against Ren’s bare legs. When Ren puts out a hand, he eagerly licks it. “That tickles,” Ren laughs.

 

 

“You sick pervert,” says Hux. “You really do want to fuck a dog, don’t you?”

 

 

“You’re not a dog,” Ren frowns.

 

 

“Fox,” Hux amends, rolling his eyes. “Some sort of beast.”

 

 

“There are plenty of sentients with tails,” says Ren, putting his hand out for more licks. Hux obliges him, helpless to refuse. “It doesn’t make you a beast any more than having teeth does. You’re just. An exotic sort of humanoid.”

 

 

“Whatever helps you feel better about being a pervert,” says Hux.

 

 

Ren pulls his hand away. “Do you want me to leave you stuck like that?” he threatens, playfully. “It’s not going to go away by itself, you know. You are stuck like that forever until someone releases you. And I don’t see anyone else volunteering.”

 

 

“How do you know it won’t go away?” Hux scoffs. “You don’t scare me. I’ve known you long enough to figure out that half the time you claim the Force is telling you something you’re really just making things up.”

 

 

Ren shakes his head, grinning in disbelief. “You’re so stubborn,” he says. “If this doesn’t humble you, I suppose nothing ever will.” He starts walking around Hux, admiring him from various angles. Hux turns his head to watch. He feels no physical strain or discomfort from being locked in this position. His body seems perfectly adapted to it, ready to stay like this forever. He’s so vulnerable like this, completely naked with his arse stuck in the air and no way to cover it. It sends a thrill of heat through his body, making him squirm under Ren’s gaze. Hux is reminded of the crab traps the Commandant’s servants used to set along the beach, below his cliffside manor house on stormy Arkanis. The wire mesh boxes had cylindrical openings lined with metal teeth pointed in one direction, so that crabs could climb inside, but then couldn’t climb back out the other way. The only way to get the crab out was to open the door in the top of the box from the outside. This is exactly what Hux has done to himself. He allowed his emotions to get the better of him, climbing deep into the center of his fox nature, and now he is stuck there, because the opening he climbed through only goes one way. He can see the trap door, but he can’t reach it. He needs Ren to open it for him.

 

 

“Before, you were imagining it as a switch being flipped,” says Ren, crouching behind him. “I like that better. It’s much simpler.” Hux can smell the lube. His prick twitches in anticipation as he senses Ren pouring it out and warming it between his hands. “To me, you feel like you’re in a sort of... special mode,” he hums thoughtfully, spreading Hux’s cheeks and carefully inserting a finger. Hux bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut. _Fuck._ It’s already too much. His erection throbs, but he can’t reach for it or do anything about it. “You deprived the spirit of the attention it needed for so long,” says Ren, massaging him in and out, “that you eventually triggered a kind of fail-safe mechanism. The purpose of this is to render you totally helpless, so that you have no choice but to drop everything and attend to it.” Hux keens, pushing himself back against Ren’s hand. Ren chuckles darkly. “I like you very much this way,” he says. Withdrawing his hand, he climbs on top of Hux again, rubbing his erection between Hux’s thighs. “You can’t do anything. I suppose it’s the only way to get you to take a break from work.”

 

 

“Fuck you,” says Hux. “Just get on with it!”

 

 

“Relax,” says Ren. Holding Hux’s tail out of the way, he slides in only partially, waiting for Hux to adjust before slotting himself all the way in. Hux makes a horrible, shrieking fox-noise. “Shh,” Ren coos, pressing his chest to Hux’s back and hugging him around the middle. _Nice friend, good touch_. He lays his head down, falling still. He is warm, and heavy, and motionless, buried deep inside of Hux’s body. Surrounding him and penetrating him. But just when Ren seems content to doze right off, he lifts his hips slightly, giving a shallow thrust.

 

 

“Please--” Hux sobs. He rocks back and forth, panting and struggling, trying to make Ren move.

 

 

“I’m in charge of this mission,” Ren mocks, pausing for what seems like an eternity before lifting his hips again. He nuzzles the side of Hux’s neck, whispering in his ear. “I like having you at my mercy. I like that you can’t do anything.” He slides his hands up and down Hux’s torso, in time with his torturously slow thrusts. “So I think I’ll keep you this way for a while.” He reaches down, stroking Hux’s prick with just his thumb and index finger. Hux tilts his head back and opens his mouth wide, his throaty fox-shriek growing louder and louder. “Shhh,” Ren hushes, bringing both hands back up to Hux’s chest. “Do you enjoy being helpless?” he asks. “Do you enjoy being at my mercy?”

 

 

 _Yes_ , Hux projects, unable to speak. He can feel Ren smile against his neck.

 

 

“Are you going to let me pet you when you need it?” Ren asks. “Or are you going to let yourself end up like this again? It makes no difference to me. I’m happy to help either way.” His breathing gets faster as he increases the pace, his hair tickling Hux’s back. He grips Hux’s flanks, stopping to adjust his angle before plunging in again. “Would you ever go to someone else instead?”

 

 

 _No,_ Hux projects. He whimpers, realizing what he’s admitting to. He could see a physical therapist. He could receive a regular, medically prescribed massage, in a dignified professional setting, and he wouldn’t have to rely on Ren at all. No one else would have to know about his vulnerability, and he would never have to endure this state of extreme helplessness. But he won’t do that. Because he doesn’t want a detached medic to touch him. He wants Ren to touch him.

 

 

“What if I wanted you to be my pet?” Ren asks. “What if I wanted to feed you and brush your tail?” Hux shudders, imagining it.

 

 

 _I hate you_ , he thinks.

 

 

“I don’t think you hate me at all,” Ren pants. “I think you like me a lot. I think you want to be my pet sometimes.” He bites Hux’s shoulder as he begins to thrust deeper and faster, nearing his peak. Hux clenches around him, and Ren comes with a sharp gasp. After all his prattle, Ren is surprisingly quiet. He slumps forward, loosely wrapping his arms around Hux’s neck. “You’ve been carrying me this whole time,” he says. “You’re so strong. How can you be so strong and so soft?” He rubs his cheek against Hux’s shoulder. “And you smell so good,” he mumbles.

 

 

“Ren--” Hux breathes, frantic.

 

 

“Why do you call me that?” Ren asks lazily. “Why don’t you call me by my name? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

 

 

Tears of frustration prick at the corners of Hux’s eyes. “Kylo--” he gasps. “Whoever the fuck you are. I need you to help me come.”

 

 

“Yes,” Ren muses. “You still do, don’t you? And afterwards, will you rip my throat out?”

 

 

“No--” Hux chokes. _Just get on with it!_

 

 

Ren takes hold of his prick, giving it a few languid strokes before pausing and kissing his shoulder. “You’re not really angry are you?” he asks.

 

 

_Argghh--!_

 

 

“I think it would help if you begged me,” says Ren, as if he’s offering a friendly suggestion.

 

 

 _Please, I’m begging you--! Augh, fuck! I’ll do anything, I’ll let you brush me, please, please, fuck, Ren-- Aaaahhhh--_ After a couple of firm pulls, Hux collapses, crying in relief. He falls to the floor on his belly and Ren falls on top of him, momentarily knocking the wind out of him. The echo of his orgasm seems to last much longer than he’s accustomed to, but then, this is the first one he’s had since-- Well.

 

 

“Was it better?” Ren asks, rolling onto this side. Hux mewls softly, shifting closer and draping his tail over the valley of Ren’s waist. “You always used to act so bored,” Ren yawns, pulling Hux into his arms. “Even when I could sense that you were enjoying it, you pretended you weren’t.” Hux nuzzles his chest, purring in contentment. Ren’s complaining fades into background noise, his steady heartbeat filling Hux’s ears.

 

 

 _Nice friend. Good mate._ _Time for sleep._

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. The Apotheosis of Fox Hux

A nameless feeling calls Hux deep into the heart of the forrest. Soft fronds reach out and pet him as he chases frolicking motes of light, hardly paying attention to where he’s going. Dragonflies hum past him, and he smiles at the sound. All his senses are alive in this place. It seems so peaceful. The low hum of anxiety he usually feels aboard the _Finalizer_ is absent. In his natural habitat, he’s finally able to fully relax. Only... there’s something amiss.

 

 

Coming across another carcass, he stops, his ears pricking up in alarm. The bodies of dead animals are strewn across the ground, more than there should ordinarily be in one place. And they’re all freshly killed. He sniffs the air, reeling at the scent of blood, but he can’t smell any predators nearby. Whatever did this was large and powerful. He clambers over a fallen tree, his stance low, ready to fight or run. Beneath the overpowering stench of blood, he catches the cool scent of water. He’s been here before, he realizes. This is the home of the Fox God. Out of a strange sense of filial loyalty, he finds himself rushing on to warn it of the predator in their midst. He’s not sure what to make of this impulse, but it’s not a wholly unfamiliar one. (Something tells him the Fox God will be easier to please than the Commandant was.)

 

 

As he approaches the sunny glade, he can see the outline of a stooped figure, drinking from the Fox God’s sacred pond. The pink lilies bob in warning as it disturbs the surface of the water. Hux crouches behind a tree, watching the figure’s pale back rise and fall, its vertebrae standing out like a row of blunt teeth. The creature is odorless, its presence a disturbing lacuna in Hux’s sensory world. His eyes and ears perceive it, but his nose is telling him it can’t be real, that it must be a hologram or a mirage. The creature stands, its long limbs unfolding gracefully. It’s almost three meters tall, with gleaming white skin and a beautiful silver tail. It stands with its back to Hux, completely naked, its long, delicate hands fluttering at its sides like white birds, a pair of stately silver ears swiveling like parascopes atop its smooth, egg-like head. It looks to one side, sniffing the air, and Hux freezes, realizing he’s been detected. The alien turns to face him, it’s naked front dripping with the blood of all the animals it’s killed. It’s a member of a species Hux doesn’t recognize, but its ears and tail are similar to his own. Its huge, grey eyes narrow in suspicion as it scans the treeline, parting its soft, violet mouth.

 

 

Hux’s heart seizes. The creature is Snoke, restored. He has grown strong and beautiful again by drinking from the Fox God’s water, and by pillaging its forrest. He advances on Hux, odorless and almost soundless, an elegant and terrible predator. Hux prepares to run, but he is overtaken in seconds. Snoke crushes his smaller body against a tree, ripping Hux’s throat open with his teeth. Hux tries to scream, but his voice is gone with his throat, and all that comes out is a horrible, wet gurgling sound. Hux isn’t strong enough to throw him off, and blood loss makes him weaker by the second. Where is the Fox God? he thinks. It claimed to love him. Why doesn’t it help him now? He is unexpectedly heartbroken. Snoke’s flashing teeth sink into his neck a second time, and his world goes black.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hux’s ears flick, sensing movement. He’s curled on his side, comfortable in his den, and he doesn’t much want to be bothered. The movement doesn’t scan as threatening, so he burrows deeper under his blankets, trying to ignore the distraction. It takes him a moment to realize he’s not the one making that faint, high-pitched whine. He sits up, blinking and yawning. Ren is at the foot of the mattress, frantically crawling in circles, chasing his own tail.

 

 

“Hux,” he says breathlessly. “I don’t-- How--?” His ears are flattened in terror.

 

 

“Oh, fuck.” Hux scrubs a hand over his face, his drowsiness evaporating, the memory of last night rushing back to him. He blinks several times, but the image in front of him doesn’t change. Ren is a fox person. Ren is a fox person with yellow eyes and shiny, space-black fur. Because _of course_ it’s contagious after all. Sexually transmitted. Just his luck. Snoke probably won’t take kindly to Hux defiling his apprentice. Hux will be lucky to emerge from this with his life, he thinks, to say nothing of his rank.

 

 

Ren hangs his head, nosing the mattress, and Hux can’t help but notice his luxurious-looking tail. Now is hardly the time to gawk, but a part of him is captivated. On Ren, features Hux found ridiculous on himself are distressingly attractive. _Fur is thick, healthy. Eyes are bright. A good mate._ “I don’t understand,” Ren shudders. “I didn’t know this was possible.”

 

 

“Well it’s your own fault,” says Hux. Of course, Hux knows it’s _his_ own fault for being contaminated in the first place. The thought fills him with shame, but there’s no point in letting Ren see it. He gets up out of bed, walking over to the table and checking his chrono. It’s beta shift. He glances over his shoulder at Ren, becoming self conscious about standing in the middle of the room naked. He’s used to sleeping in a shirt and shorts. At least his tail covers his arse. When he turns away to look back at his datapad, his face is burning. Noticing way Ren’s wavy hair frames his big, soft ears, Hux feels the perverted desire to bite them. “I have to be on the bridge soon,” he says cooly. “Should I leave you here, or call medical, or what?”

 

 

But Ren isn’t listening. He’s sitting cross-legged on the mattress, turning his hands over and over in front of his face. He marvels at their shiny black talons, testing them agains his palms. “It’s not real...” he says, distant.

 

 

“I thought the same thing at first,” says Hux.

 

 

“No,” Ren runs a hand over his velvety black tail, flinching at the sensation. “I mean, I haven’t really changed, the way you have. This is superficial.” He gestures at himself. “I haven’t changed _inside_. It’s the spirit in you, that’s doing this to me. I can feel it.” He takes a slow, experimental breath. “It feels so strange,” he says, putting a hand to his belly.

 

  
“Oh does it?” Hux scoffs.

 

 

Ren flexes his shoulders, looking up at the ceiling. “I can feel it’s power within me,” he says. That mystical look of his is even more off-putting now that his eyes are reflective. “But only a fraction of it’s power. I’m just borrowing it from you.” He sounds almost disappointed.

 

 

“It’s only temporary then?” Hux asks. “Well, lucky you.”

 

 

“Hux,” Ren frowns, scolding him. “This is serious. The ability to project a part of your spirit into another person’s body is extremely dangerous. For them, and for you.”

 

 

Hux looks down, tapping open his messages. “I’ll try not to make a habit of it then,” he says. “Shit.” He looks around the room. “Fuck, Ren. Get up!”

 

 

Ren stands on shaking legs, his tail whisking nervously. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

 

 

Hux puts down his datapad. He rushes over to the storage towers and throws a drawer open, grabbing a pair of shorts and scrambling to pull them over his legs. “It’s Snoke,” he says. Ren stands beside him, naked and motionless. “Go on, get dressed!” says Hux. “He’s here! We’re being summoned.” His tail thumps against the wall, panicking in the confined space.

 

 

“Has he boarded the ship?” Ren asks. “Why weren’t we alerted--?” He starts grabbing his clothes off the floor, struggling into his complicated layers. “Why don’t I feel his presence?” he asks, his pitch rising.

 

 

“He hasn’t boarded,” says Hux. He pulls on an undershirt and stockings and tosses Ren his dark leggings balled at the foot of the mattress. “He’s coming out of hyperspace, and he wants us to meet him in the main hangar.” Ren stops and brings a closed fist to his mouth, his ears flattening. Hux can feel his distress. Bending over to put on his boots, he’s distracted by the Commandant’s knife in its leather case. Down here, the shelf where it sits is at eye level. Without stopping to ask himself why, he opens the case and slips the knife into his boot. The totem instantly makes him feel safer. He gets up and turns around, half-dressed. There’s something oddly satisfying about the uneven weight of it, the splint of cool metal against his right ankle. Ren looks puzzled, but doesn’t ask. “Alright,” says Hux, waving his hands in front of Ren’s chest. “He won’t be pleased to see you like that. How do I turn you back?”

 

 

“I don’t know,” says Ren. “What were you thinking about when your spirit possessed me?” The notion of being _possessed_ doesn’t seem to faze him very much. He sounds expectant and shy, as if he’s hoping for a particular answer.

 

 

Hux fumbles with the fastenings on his uniform, glaring at Ren in frustration. “I wasn’t thinking, I was asleep!” he snaps.

 

 

“Did you have any dreams that seemed significant?” asks Ren.

 

 

Hux stills, considering this. “I can’t remember,” he says after a moment, shaking his head. He takes a step closer and puts a hand on Ren’s shoulder, trying to reabsorb whatever part of him is supposedly bleeding over into Ren’s body. Upon inspection, he can see that the change is only superficial. Ren’s skin, his scent-- They’re pleasant, but off. Ren is a person with fox features, but he is not a fox person. Removing the spirit will turn him back to normal.

 

 

Feeling faintly ridiculous, Hux closes his eyes, trying to mimic what he knows of the Force from observing Ren. And sure enough, he can feel a certain connection between them. A presence in Ren’s body, that seems like it’s coming from himself. He frowns, disturbed. The spirit frolics beyond his grasp as he attempts to reincorporate it. It’s like seeing his own reflection in a mirror suddenly stop mimicking him and start moving around on its own. The more he tries to focus on the sensation, the more disorienting and frustrating it becomes. “Fuck.” Hux opens his eyes, overwhelmed. “I don’t know how to take it back. And we don’t have much time.” He starts frantically buckling his belt. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re just going to have to go to him like that.”

 

 

Ren looks grave. “It’s alright,” he says. His tabards trail on the floor, bunched in his fist. His tail juts awkwardly from the top of his leggings. He doesn’t look like he really believes it. “Supreme Leader will be able to help us,” he says. “We should go to him and explain what’s happened.”

 

 

Hux sniffs in embarrassment. “Well...” he says, straightening his uniform. “I don’t think he needs to know all the details.”

 

 

 

 

 

The hangar is empty, the overhead lights turned down to twenty percent. Their footsteps echo against the laminated metal floor as they make their way towards the center. This is highly irregular, Hux thinks. The main hanger should never be without a crew. He doesn’t like it one bit. Ren walks slightly ahead of him, his tail flapping nervously beneath his long tabards. Hux narrows his eyes, scanning for threats, flinching when he catches a cluster of metallic glints out of the corner of his eye. In the low light, racks of tie fighters scan as dense, insectoid shapes, like Geonsian foot soldiers curled up inside the walls, waiting to strike. The buzz of background radiation is especially pronounced down here, contributing to the impression of a live swarm. Hux is used to looking into the main hangar from up in the control room. The environment on the ground is cold and unpleasant, the air pressure uncomfortably low. He yawns, trying to pop his ears. This is a strange place for Snoke to want to meet them, but he’s not holding his breath for an explanation. It certainly isn’t the first time Snoke’s given him strange or even seemingly inappropriate orders.

 

 

Ren stops in the middle of the floor and turns around to face him. His mouth is open, about to say something, but he startles. “Your eyes...” he says. The darkness turns Ren’s eyes into disks of pale-gold light, swallowing his pupils entirely. It’s not un-pretty. “Do I look like that, too?” he asks. Hux snorts. Ren looks shaken.

 

 

“What?” Hux squints at him. “What’s wrong?” He feels himself gravitating closer to Ren, wanting to soothe him. He clenches his jaw, admonishing himself that now is not the time to offer licks. Of course, there are social instincts, triggered by the presence of his own kind. _Of course_ there are, because nothing about this can ever be simple. “There’s a layer of reflective tissue behind your retina,” he offers instead. “It gives you better night vision.” Ren doesn’t seem mollified by this. “It’s an advantage,” Hux adds dumbly.

 

 

Ren looks at the floor, silently working his mouth. “You must have noticed that it’s the way His eyes look,” he says softly. “Not exactly the same but. White, in the dark.”

 

 

“Who?” Hux asks. “Snoke?” Ren flinches. “Well, I’m sure he has excellent night vision,” says Hux. He smirks. Ren doesn’t look up. “I thought you were trying to emulate him,” says Hux, annoyed. Ren’s distress is causing _him_ distress. He wants the feeling to go away. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other trying to bury it. The urge to nuzzle Ren’s neck is strong, but he manages to overpower it. Later, he tells himself. (If there is a later.) Not until after they’ve sorted things out. “You told me I shouldn’t worry about being human,” he says. “It’s just a technicality.”

 

 

“Yes,” says Ren. He doesn’t look up. “It’s not that.”

 

 

“Remember when people thought you were an alien or a droid or something?” says Hux. He can’t tell if this is reassuring, but he doesn’t know what to say. “You loved that, didn’t you? You loved being so... other. It gave you power over them.”

 

 

“People?” asks Ren, incredulous. He finally meets Hux’s eyes, but flinches again at the sight of them. “You mean _you._ _You_ thought I was an alien.”

 

 

Hux draws himself up. “A lot of people did! You cultivated rumors like that on purpose.” He purses his lips. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Now you really are an alien. Just like Supreme Leader.” He’s not sure if he’s being mean. He’s not very good at comforting people with words. The fox way seems a lot more straightforward, at least. Ren presence wavers. Hux doesn’t know what’s happening between them, he just feels a vague sense of foreboding. A low vibration on the air. His tail is bristling, as if it knows something he doesn’t. Why can’t he ever seem to get a straight answer about anything? “I don’t see what the problem is,” he says.

 

 

“Nothing.” Ren sighs through his nose. “And I’m not an alien,” he says. “Not really.”

 

 

Hux crosses his arms. “But what if I can’t undo it?” he asks. “You should probably start getting used to this, just in case.” He tilts his face down, to show that he’s half joking. And what if I don’t want to undo it, he doesn’t say. What if it turns out I like the company?

 

 

“I’m sure Supreme Leader will know what to do,” says Ren. He sounds dull and resigned. Hux doesn’t like it. He wants to say something more, but he doesn’t get the chance.

 

 

An alert sounds and the blast doors open onto the void of space, only the force field keeping everything inside the hangar from rushing out. With no one up in the control room, Hux wonders who could be operating the controls. The hum of radiation grows louder, and a chill that could just as easily be in the Force as in the air rushes over his skin. A large, dark object passes through the force field, and Hux feels his body preparing to fight it. The object moves like a living creature, its black tentacles whipping and groping the air. It’s only Snoke’s ship, Hux reminds himself. It’s not a predator. There’s no reason to get excited. The small craft opens its wide, fishlike mouth and Snoke steps out of it, draped in gauzy dark fabric, his twisted hands outstretched. He floats down from its lip, alighting silently in the middle of the floor. “General,” he says, though his gaze is fixed on Ren, “I do hope my confidence in you has not been misplaced.” His eyes flash in the dark, like silver coins, just as Ren said they would, and Hux calms himself by feeling for the cool flat of the Commandant’s knife against his ankle.

 

 

Ren is the first to step forward. “It’s my fault,” he says. He lowers his head in deference as Snoke approaches him. “Please, don’t blame Hux for giving it to me. I wanted it. I forced him to share it.” This is an angle, Hux realizes. Ren is negotiating. As with many of Ren’s interactions with Snoke, Hux senses that there’s another layer to it he’s not seeing.

 

 

Snoke frowns in concern, folding back his long sleeves with slow, spindly fingers. “It is just as I feared,” he says. There’s no hint of anger in his voice. “You have become... compromised.”

 

 

“Yes,” says Ren. He speaks quickly and forcefully. “Supreme Leader, I am weak. Please forgive me.” He gazes up into Snoke’s face. “Remember,” he says. “Remember how I was. Remember the truths you showed me. You showed me why I could never find peace.” Snoke seems to consider this. Hux presses his tongue to the back of his teeth, observing this bizarre exchange. He tries rehearsing what he’ll say when called on, but he doesn’t know what’s expected of him. Bumps rise on the backs of his arms and his mouth goes dry. Why like this, why the hangar? Why is it empty? He doesn’t know what’s happening.

 

 

“You are forgiven,” says Snoke. “I will rid you of this contamination.” His hand hovers a few centimeters above Ren’s head, translucent flesh shining in the darkness. He looks more grotesque than ever, Hux thinks, moist and pale as a maggot, his skin loose and crumpling around his lower face and neck. But Snoke is the same, it’s Hux’s eyes that have changed. The shadows can’t hide all the horrible details of his face from Hux’s night vision. All these years they’ve been meeting in the dark, where Snoke could see perfectly while he and Ren couldn’t. Hux shudders. The veil of authority and mystery lifts, and suddenly Snoke is just standing there in front of him like anyone else in the galaxy. The tips of fingers brush against Ren’s hair, scarcely disturbing the strands.

 

 

“Thank you,” says Ren. The corners of his mouth turn down in a look of silent pain.

 

 

Snoke pauses, his hand faltering in the air. “What is it that General Hux has found?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

 

 

“I don’t know what it is,” says Ren. “But it’s a very ancient power. When I saw how it. Remade him. I was jealous. I wanted it for myself. Please don’t blame him.” His posture slips as Snoke’s hand passes over his head, his eyelids drooping as he falls under the familiar spell. Hux is vaguely afraid, but the most prominent among his emotions is a kind of second-hand embarrassment. He’s caught glimpses of Ren’s strange, furtive conversations with Snoke in the past, and they’ve always left him feeling unclean. He could always tell when he was witnessing something he wasn’t meant to, and it made him feel guilty. Now though, he wonders: Did he feel guilty for _eavesdropping?_ Or for failing to intervene?

 

 

“You have suffered for such a long time,” says Snoke, his brow scrunching in sadness. He gazes down at Ren like a beloved pet. “It is understandable that you would seek relief in such a way. But this reversion to childish self-indulgence will only cause you further harm...” He trails off, but never continues the thought.

 

 

Hux takes a step closer to Ren, his tail brushing the backs of Ren’s leg in reassurance. “Supreme Leader--” he says.

 

 

“General,” Snoke cuts him off, seeming to suddenly remember Hux’s presence. “I am surprised at you. You have taken advantage of Kylo Ren’s confusion and pain. You are foolish to trifle with powers you don’t understand.”

 

 

Ren jolts at this. “No,” he says, pleading. “He didn’t.” He positions himself in front of Hux. “I wanted to feel it for myself. He didn’t offer it to me.” He glances at Hux over his shoulder. “Please,” he says, his voice filling with tears.

 

 

Snoke shakes his head, worlds-weary and gentle-eyed. “When you were very small,” he says, “you asked me if you were ugly.” He folds his lower lip in an exaggerated frown, as though speaking to a child. “You asked me if that was the reason why no one could love you. Even now, you believe that this...” he gestures at Ren’s velvety tail, “ _surface beauty_ can conceal your true sickness.” He sighs. “You still have much to learn.” Ren’s eyes track Snoke’s hand as it reaches for the top of his head, closing in pleasure as Snoke’s boney fingers stroke his ears. “I will show you,” Snoke says. “You will be purified.” Ren nuzzles his hand, purring meekly.

 

 

Something in Hux slips its bonds, and he can no longer suppress a growl. It’s madness to antagonize the Supreme Leader, and yet-- _Predator!_ His body hums with energy, preparing him for a fight. He barks, and Snoke looks down at him, bemused. “In truth, I must thank you General,” he says, raising his other hand as if to pet Hux, too. “Your discovery has proved more valuable to me than you could ever have imagined.” Hux staggers, a wave of drowsiness passing over him. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Ren hitting the floor a split second before succumbing to unconsciousness himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hux wrinkles his nose as the broadgrass tickles him awake. He’s lying on the ground.

 

 

 _How_ is he lying on the ground? _Where_ is he lying on the ground?

 

 

Instinct stills him. He’s somewhere warm and bright, the fresh air brushing against his exposed skin. His body is tense and his breathing is shallow. The fox is commanding him not to make any sudden moves. He peers through his eyelashes, feigning sleep, and immediately realizes why. Several meters away, Snoke stands knee deep in a pool of glassy water, his snakelike features distorted and stretched almost beyond recognition. His jaw is unhinged, exposing rows of tiny, metallic teeth. They are razor-thin and iridescent, like shards of the flakey calcium deposited on the insides of sea shells. The pink lilies crane away from the shoreline on their long stalks, desperate to avoid him. Ren, unconscious, dangles from his arms, the toes of his boots skimming the surface of the water. Snoke lurches, ligaments creaking, gradually widening his mouth to accommodate Ren’s head.

 

 

 _Predator._ _Danger._ Hux’s blood thrums with urgency, but he remains still. He’s lying at the edge of the pond, the shallow water lapping against his side. His wrists and ankles are bound. He’s to be eaten next. Slowly, so as not to attract Snoke’s attention, he arches his spine and reaches down, withdrawing the Commandant’s dagger from his boot. Slipping the blade between his ankles, he cuts the plastic tie, sparing the fox spirit some gratitude. In his old body, this kind of maneuver would have been difficult, if not impossible. He holds the knife close to his side, concealing the high shine of the Mandalorian steel in the folds of his clothing. Bending his knees up towards his chest, he steps his legs through the loop of his arms, bringing his bound wrists to the front of his body. He pauses, his ears standing at attention. Snoke isn’t looking, too busy with Ren to notice him. Lifting his wrists to his mouth, Hux easily gnaws through the plastic ties. Oh, his teeth are powerful. A thrill of adrenaline shoots through him. _Kill predator. Save mate._ For once, there is no conflict.

 

 

Closing his fingers around the handle of the knife, he takes a deep breath and surges to his feet in one, swift motion. Snoke’s head turns to face him, startled. There’s no time to think. Hux takes a running leap into the water, holding the knife high on the downward arc and plunging it into Snoke’s eye socket. Screeching in pain, Snoke drops Ren’s body in the water and clutches his face with both hands, translucent violet fluid spurting from between his bone-white fingers. His voice is distorted, his unhinged jaw swinging freely from its sinewy suspensions. The air fills with static, an ultra-low frequency pounding in Hux’s sensitive ears. Birds and insects scatter, evacuating the clearing as Snoke’s rage permeates the Force. The water is up to Hux’s waist, hindering him as he gropes towards Ren’s floating body while trying to avoid Snoke’s thrashing arms. He strips down to his undershirt, leaving his heavy jacket behind him as he scoops Ren up and wades with him towards the shore. The bottom of the pond is slick, but his balance his excellent, and the second his boots find purchase on dry land he’s sprinting through the forrest, Snoke’s shrill cries fading into the distance.

 

 

Bolstered by the clean air, he bobs and weaves effortlessly between the close-growing trees, instinct propelling him away from the danger as swiftly as possible. The small, darting creatures around them regard him with awe and fear, recognizing the mark of their god upon him. He lets go, marveling at the way his body carries on without him. The fox is clever, and it knows where to run. Far from dulling his intellect, he finds his survival instincts have sharpened it. His body navigates the treacherous terrain without a single misstep or moment of hesitation, leaving his mind free to strategize. With all of these tiny, split second choices taken out of his hands, his thoughts are exhilaratingly clear. The forest flashes by him, a blur of interesting sights, and sounds, and smells, but nothing can turn him from his purpose. The only thing that matters is escaping the danger.

 

 

After what feels like a couple of kilometers, he stops, catching his breath, and lays Ren down in a shady gap between the trees. _Is mate hurt?_ _Is there blood?_ Ren stirs as Hux licks his face, hands feeling him for injuries. “Nnnn, Hux--” Ren groans, his eyelashes beating. “Where are we? What are you doing?” He struggles in Hux’s grip, looking in confusion at their surroundings. “How did we get planetside?”

 

 

 _Be quiet_ , Hux sends him. _Don’t speak._ He presses his nose to the side of Ren’s neck, imbibing his smell, waiting for his heart rate to level off. His mate is alive and whole. But the danger hasn’t passed. _Take off your outer layers_ , he sends. _They’_ _ll_ _snag on the branches and slow you down. But do it quietly._ Ren nods, sensing the gravity of these instructions. He peels off his gloves and unfastens his wide belt, laying them soundlessly down on the ground. With Hux’s help, he lifts first his long tabards and then his pleated surcoat over his head, draping them over a bow in the tree Hux has him propped against. Down to a sleeveless black undershirt, he stands and shakes off his fatigue.

 

 

 _Where are we?_ he asks again. His ears swivel around, gathering information. _How did we get off the_ _Finalizer_ _?_

 

 

 _We’re on the uncharted planet,_ Hux explains, nuzzling him. He gestures at the sky with his head. _The Finalizer is orbiting us._ _I think Snoke brought us_ _down_ _here._ He tenses under Ren’s touch, his eyes growing wide as his mind catches up with what he’s just witnessed. _Ren_ , he thinks, his heart skipping. _Snoke_ _brought us here to eat us._

 

 

“What?” says Ren, aloud. “What are you talking about?”

 

 

 _Shh!_ Hux bites him on the ear. _Be quiet. He’s tracking us._ He wraps his arms around Ren’s neck, trying to soothe him. Trying to soothe himself. _We are being hunted_ , he thinks. _There’s no other way to describe it._

 

 

Ren pulls away from him, his face hardening. _That’s impossible._

 

 

 _Listen to me_ , Hux sends in desperation. _Fuck-- I know it’s_ _insane_ _. But I saw it. He was trying to eat you_ _, and I stopped him._ _I put out one of his eyes with my knife--_

 

 

“You what?!” Ren cries. “ _You_ fought him? With a _knife?!_ ” A distant rustling turns both sets of ears.

 

 

 _He heard you,_ Hux projects. _He’s coming_ _for us_ _._ Grabbing Ren by the wrist, he drags him through the gap in the trees and takes off sprinting . Unholstering the knife, he slashes a path through vines as their legs carry them farther into the dense heart of the forest. Ren is close behind him, radiating confusion and terror. _He brought us here so he could drink the water_ , Hux thinks. _He was trying to eat you_ _while he stood_ _in the water._

 

 

 _What water?_ Ren asks.

 

 

 _The Fox God’s water_ , Hux sends. _The being who reigns here. I drank_ _the water_ _when I first came to th_ _is_ _planet._ _Don’t ask me why. I wasn’t in my right mind._ He swerves to the right, hauling Ren with him. Ren is quick, but still not as strong as him, still not fully remade by the spirit. _That’s how its power got into me in the first place. I forgot about it_ _before_ _._ _I forgot about drinking the water._ They reach a point where the trees are so dense that the ground is no longer passable. Hux stops, placing a warning hand on Ren’s chest. As quietly as he can, he climbs onto a bow a few meters above the ground, his tail balancing him as he surveys their options. Instead of returning the knife to his boot, he slips it into a loop at the waistband of his jodhpurs. He wants to keep it at the ready. The loop is too loose for the knife, meant to help secure a leather holster for a sidearm, but it’ll do for the moment. What looks from the outside to be a close knot of trees is actually a single giant tree with multiple connected trunks. A cool, dark hollow in the center seems like a good place to hide. Ren hesitates before the opening and Hux pulls him inside, pressing him against one of the larger trunks. It’s shady here, and smells pleasantly of rotting wood. _B_ e _still_ , he thinks. Ren nuzzles him, chittering in distress. _Shh!_ Hux thinks angrily. _Be quiet!_ He bites the bridge of Ren’s nose, hard, which is surprisingly effective. Ren’s ears flatten, and his body seems to curl in on itself in recognition of Hux’s show of dominance. _He wants_ _the spirit for himself,_ Hux sends, smoothing down Ren’s hair. _He believes that consuming us will transform him. He thinks it will heal his old injuries_ _and restore his full power_.

 

 

Ren is about to object when a noise overhead freezes them. Hux feels the hairs on his arms stand on end and they lower their heads, tails curled against their sides. Ren squeezes his eyes shut, tucking his head under Hux’s chin and listening for the danger. His breath is hot against Hux’s neck. A yellow bird takes off from above them, rustling the leaves, but nothing else stirs. _I don’t believe you_ , Ren sends, unfreezing after a moment. He gnaws on Hux’s shoulder, frustrated but still submissive. His body recognizes the danger, the need to stay close to Hux, even as he denies it. _Maybe it’s a test_ , he thinks, groping for some explanation. _We must prove ourselves. He doubts our loyalty._

 

 

 _No._ Hux squeezes him by the ribs. _It’s not a test. It’s not a lesson._ They can’t afford to fight with each other. They must cooperate if they’re to have any hope of escape. But Ren may not be his ally in this situation. A chill runs down his spine as he thinks of Ren having to choose. _Snoke doesn’t want to help you_ , he sends. Ren gnashes his teeth, struggling in his hold and Hux bites his nose again, shaking him. _He’s_ never _wanted to help you_ , Hux sends. Ren’s tail bristles and he shoves Hux off of him, rumbling with menace. _Don’t!_ Hux warns. Ren clambers through the gap and Hux lunges after him. They tumble over each other, and Hux wrestles Ren to the ground.

 

 

“No,” Ren spits. “No!” Kneeing Ren in the stomach, Hux grabs his wrists and pins them over his head. Ren thrashes and kicks, unable to free himself. “I don’t believe you,” he says, his eyes welling with angry tears. “Supreme Leader is Wise,” he says, gazing sightlessly past Hux’s shoulder. “Supreme Leader is Wise. Supreme Leader is Wise!” he chants.

 

 

 _Shh..._ Hux bows to lick the tears from his cheeks, trying to soothe him. Ren stills, his breath hiccuping. His chest rises and falls under Hux’s chin. Without warning, he cracks their foreheads together, startling Hux enough to break his grip and roll out from under him. Hux claws at the dirt, pulling himself to his feet and launching himself at Ren again, but he’s not quick enough. He tries to grab Ren by the tail but it whips out of his hands as Ren disappears into the woods.

 

 

Hux starts to chase after him but stops short when he hears a faint snapping sound somewhere over his shoulder. His muscles freeze, his ears swiveling all the way around, detecting motion. A tall figure approaches from behind him, parting the trees like a blade. _Predator. Move._ As he dives back into the dense tangle of foliage, the knife slips from the loop at his waist and falls to the ground. He can almost hear the Commandant’s disapproval, but he can’t afford to stop and pick it up. He veers left, catching a trace of Ren’s scent. The air is moist and loamy, full of exciting smells, but this one stands out above the rest. His mate smells like wool, and sweat, and warm cedar, like the spiced teas he often drinks. He is unmistakable.

 

 

The sunlight is brighter and the way is easier as the forest opens up again. He soon finds Ren crouched behind a large tree, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow. His cheek is pressed against the silver bark. _Ren!_ Hux kneels in the moss, grabbing hold of him. They are surrounded by fragrant bushes of bitter orange, with their waxy leaves and delicate white flowers. _Do you think he can he smell us?_ Hux asks.

 

 

Ren shudders. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice small. He looks so lost.

 

 

_Quiet! He can hear us!_

 

 

Ren shakes his head. “Hux,” he asks, “what have you done?” His eyes are filled with tears of betrayal, but he doesn’t seem angry or surprised in the slightest. “How could you do this to me?” he asks. He sounds crushed. He snarls, clinging to the trunk as Hux tries to pull him off of it. Hux looks between Ren and the treeline, panicking. He needs to move, now. He needs to run, but he can’t leave his mate behind. Birds scatter as the danger approaches. His body trembles in confusion, struggling to gauge the nature of the threat. He senses movement, vibration. But Snoke’s lack of scent makes him seem intangible, unreal. Like a ghost. Hux’s senses are reeling. He tugs Ren’s ear with his teeth, trying to get him to move, but it’s no use. Hux overpowers him, prying him away from the trunk, and Ren screams, throwing himself to the ground in anguish. He wants to die, Hux thinks. He can’t endure the thought of Snoke’s betrayal. He wants to die before his mind can know it. Hux stands, taking a step away from him. He can’t reason with Ren. There’s no time. He hesitates, glancing over his shoulder. His legs are tense, ready to flee. _Self before mate. Must survive._ But he doesn’t. Seconds tick by, the ground shuddering with movement, and he doesn’t run.

 

 

The blue fronds part, and Snoke emerges from the treeline. His remaining good eye flashes like a point of metal, the one Hux gouged out purple and transuding syrups like a smashed plum. Hux watches in helpless terror as he grabs Ren by the arm and hoists him into the air, plunging the arm into his mouth. Ren screams, kicking him in the stomach, and Snoke lurches and slurps, unhinging his jaw, his throat warping around the obstruction. He swallows Ren’s arm whole, rings of flint-thin teeth closing around Ren’s shoulder. His cheeks, already lacy with holes from old wounds, begin to tear like a split fish, grey flesh hanging from his fallen jaw in ragged strips. Ren stops struggling and hangs limp in his grasp, a faint, dog-like whimper issuing from his throat as he surrenders. “I’m sorry,” he mouths as Snoke prepares to devour him. “I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

 

 

Hux circles them, constantly barking, his tail bristling with rage. He launches himself at Snoke, trying to cut him off at the knees, but Snoke uses the Force to send him flying backwards through the air. The back of Hux’s head thwacks against a tree and he falls to the ground, reflex curling him into a ball. He tries to pick himself up, but Snoke hasn’t let go of him yet. Hux screams as the Force wraps itself around his shins and breaks both of his legs with a loud, clean snap. His bones are like rods of light steel, so flexible and hard that he can actually feel the strain it puts on Snoke’s powers. But so great is Snoke’s mastery of the Force that he manages it. Keeling forward into the grass, he catches a blurry glimpse of Ren’s boots, dangling motionless in the air. His head has disappeared into Snoke’s mouth. Hux drags himself over the ground with his arms, his claws tearing it up in clumps, until his arms too, are broken. He collapses, sobbing and gnashing his teeth in the dirt. His body is useless now. He can smell Ren’s blood.

 

 

He closes his eyes, spitting the dirt from his mouth. His thoughts are racing. There’s no escape. He can hear the horrible sounds of Ren being eaten. He lies on his belly, trapped by his useless limbs, with nothing but the knowledge that he is next. Something soft brushes against his side, and Hux turns his face towards it, his heart pounding with terror. And then all of a sudden, he’s looking into the jewel-bright eyes of the Fox God. It gives him a soothing nip on the ear and kisses his burning forehead with its sand-papery tongue. “ _Please--_ ” he whispers.

 

 

 _Be at peace_ , the Fox God tells him. _I have not forgotten you, my child._ Hux whimpers as the Fox God leaves his side. He strains his neck to watch as it pads away from him, his eyes watering as the clearing fills with light in its wake until he can see nothing but the silhouettes of figures and trees. _I sense that you are in terrible pain_. Yes, Hux tries to say. But the Fox God isn’t talking to him anymore. It’s talking to Snoke. _That’s why you bring war_ , it continues. _That’s why you spread suffering._ The light swells, blotting out everything else in the clearing, and Hux squeezes his eyes shut. The light turns the insides of his eyelids florescent orange and the air roars past his ears. A great struggle is happening in front of him, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He might as well be a rotting log on the ground for all his presence matters now. The Force crackles with rage, trees creaking under the pressure, roots exploding from the soil. Hux lies, blinded and helpless, in the middle of the storm as the dirt and grit rise around him, filling his sinuses and scouring his exposed skin. His lungs are burning. Oh no, he thinks. There is no escape. Snoke will tear the forrest apart.

 

 

Debris pummels him, jostling his broken limbs, and Hux chokes on his tongue. The pain is so extreme he can’t even summon the breath to cry out. He doesn’t even care what’s happening now, he just wants it to be over. He wants to be free of his miserable body. He wants the light, and the noise, and the pain to end. The fox spirit is curled within him, whimpering in agony. It wants to live, to run and play. _Why such hurt?_ it asks him. _Hurt and hurt forever!_ It’s the spirit of an innocent animal, Hux thinks, and it’s done nothing to deserve this horrible fate. It didn’t ask to be born into his body, to share his life of discipline, and hardship, and danger.

 

 

 _I’m sorry_ , he tells it. _I hope it wasn’t all bad. I hope you enjoyed some part of your existence. I’m sorry it was so brief. But I think we’re about to die._

 

 

The fox spirit wails, confused and frightened. _No!_ it says. _Why die? Why die?! Want soft, want yum, want nice. Don’t want die!_

 

 

 _I know_ , says Hux. He presses his face against his shoulder, the dust roaring around him. Reaching deep within himself, he finds where the spirit dwells and holds it close to his heart. It snuggles gratefully up to him, bracing itself for death. _You’re a good fox,_ says Hux, stroking it. _I’m sorry you got stuck with me._

 

 

The onslaught ends suddenly, rocks and soil instantly falling to the ground. The blinding light fades and Hux blinks the dust from his eyes, waiting for his pupils to adjust. At first he thinks he must be dead, or dreaming. In the middle of the clearing, the Fox God confronts a snow white stag with huge silver antlers. The stag lowers his head, dragging his front hoof in the dirt like he’s rearing to charge, but the Fox God’s bark seems to frighten him off. Hux watches in confusion as he turns and disappears into the woods, his antlers glinting in the dappled light like a chandelier. The Fox God chases after him, barking and chittering, but stops short of the treeline, defending its territory.

 

 

Hux grunts, trying to get its attention, but he can barely move or speak. _I hear you, my child_ , the Fox God reassures him. It pads over to him, kneeling at his side.

 

 

“Was that--?” He struggles. “Was that Snoke? Are you punishing him?”

 

 

_I have eased his pain. He will no longer trouble you._

 

 

Hux grimaces, trying to raise his head above the grass. “Where--? Where is Ren?” he asks.

 

 

 _Shh,_ the Fox God nuzzles his face. _Don’t worry. All is well._ It walks around him, taking stock of his injuries. _I am surprised at you, dear one_ , it muses, stooping to lick the back of his hand. _Perhaps I should not be. Foxes are playful, mischievous creatures._ It works its way up his forearm, licking and nosing, and Hux gasps, feeling the bone fuse back together. _You made yourself a playmate_ , says the Fox God in amusement. _Very resourceful. But I’m afraid I can’t allow you to wander from your body again._ Hux groans, feeling his other limbs snap back into place. Wander from his body? He tries to pick himself up again, slumping back over in pain. The bones are neatly fused, but the tissue around them is raw and sore. _Relax_ , says the Fox God. _Soon you will be healed_.

 

 

“What are you talking about?” Hux asks. “What do you mean wander from my body?”

 

 

 _You divided your spirit between two bodies. The part of your spirit that is my child_.

 

 

Hux rolls over onto his back, squinting up at the Fox God, and raises a hand, weakly scrubbing the sweat and dust from his eyes. “Ren said he was just... borrowing it,” he says.

 

 

 _Yes._ The Fox God lays an affectionate head on his belly. _Now you are back where you belong. Where you must stay._ It rubs its jaw against him in circles and Hux feels a gentle warmth spread through him. _There_ , it says. _I have bound you twice. Now you will stay put._ Hux frowns, bringing a hand to his belly. Of course, he doesn’t want to go around infecting people with it. But Ren--

 

 

Careful of the lingering soreness in his muscles, he pushes himself to his feet and staggers towards the center of the clearing. It looks like the aftermath of a hurricane. Grass and soil are stirred up in clumps. Fallen tree trunks lie piled on top of each other like dead soldiers. Ren is sprawled unconscious in the dirt, a fine spray of dust plastered to his skin with sweat. And sure enough, he has reverted to his original form, his rather unfortunate human ears peeking out from under his matted hair. He stirs, and Hux kneels beside him, checking him for injuries. His right shoulder is bleeding copiously, ringed with puncture wounds from double rows of teeth. The arm looks like it’s still attached, but depending on what’s been severed, it may be difficult to save much functionality. Hux sniffs at the wound, smelling death. It’ll probably be best to amputate. “Hux?” Ren asks, turning towards him. “I think-- I think he took my tail.” He sobs, reaching for Hux with his good arm. “I can’t feel it. I think it’s gone.”

 

 

“I’m sorry,” says Hux, gathering Ren up in his arms. “It _is_ gone. I’m sorry.”

 

 

Ren presses his forehead to Hux’s shoulder, shaking. “No,” he says. “He can’t have that, too. I gave him everything else. It’s not fair.”

 

 

“It’s alright,” says Hux. “You’re going to be alright.” He stands, scooping Ren up like a child. Ren’s eyelids flutter as he falls unconscious again, blood pouring down his side. Hux looks to the Fox God. “Please,” he says. “I need to get him back to the _Finalizer_.” He glances around at the rubble, feeling helpless. “Where is the ship we came in?” he asks. “We need to get off this planet. We won’t bother you again,” he adds, desperate. “I promise.”

 

 

 _Come with me_ , says the Fox God, taking off into the woods with a flick of its tail. Hux follows, carrying Ren close to his chest so as not to aggravate Ren’s injuries. As they quietly make their way through the forrest, Hux keeps glancing back over his shoulder. Spiderwebs glazed with dew glint in the darkness, teasing his peripheral vision with thorns of silver light.

 

 

“We’re being followed,” Hux warns. “It’s hard to track him, because he has no scent.”

 

 

 _You have nothing to fear from him_ , says the Fox God.

 

 

The white stag tilts his antlers, watching Hux intently from the shadows. One of his black eyes is puckered with violet scar tissue, but it looks like the transformation has restored his sight. Go away, he’s not yours anymore, Hux wants to yell. He cradles Ren closer, meeting the stag’s black eyes. They shine with cruel intelligence. The stag nods, as if to acknowledge that he’s been bested. You can’t come back with us, Hux thinks. We’re going to leave you here.

 

 

Eventually, they reach the sunny glade where they began. The Fox God sprints ahead, turning around to face Hux when in reaches the edge of the pond. _Lay him down here_ , it chirps. Hux kneels, carefully arranging Ren’s wounded arm across his belly and laying him down on the shore. _Now stand aside._

 

 

Anxious, Hux stands, leaving Ren’s body and backing away from the water. “Can you heal him?” he asks.

 

 

The Fox God doesn’t reply. It kisses Ren’s forehead, and Ren’s eyes fly open, haunted and lost. “Please--” Ren sobs. “I can’t-- _I can’t!_ ”

 

 

 _Your tormentor is gone,_ says the Fox God. _He hides in the forrest. He no longer has the power to hurt you._

 

 

Ren makes a high, ringing noise, like a tuning fork struck on the edge of a table. “No nonono--” he says. “You don’t understand! He has everything-- I am nothing without him. I have given him everything.” He raises his good hand in front of his face, surprised to see that his claws have turned back into thin, human nails. “Even that,” he says. “He took that too.”

 

 

 _You were temporarily possessed by a wandering spirit_ , says the Fox God. _My child_ _wanted you to resemble him, so that he wouldn’t be alone. But he was never truly a part of you._

 

 

“Oh.” Ren’s face crumples. He gazes up into the Fox God’s eyes. “I know that,” he says softly. “But I hoped that somehow. Maybe you had intended it for me.”

 

 

The Fox God coos to him. _Drink of my sacred water,_ it says. _And you will be_ _transformed_ _forever. Is that what you want?_

 

 

“I don’t want to have to think anymore,” says Ren. He turns his head towards the water, watching the slight bob of the lilies. “I would rather be an animal.” He casts his eyes sightlessly about. “It sounds so peaceful.”

 

 

Hux takes a step towards them. “Ren--” he starts. The Fox God snaps at him, and he retreats.

 

 

“Can I stay here?” Ren asks, blinking slowly.

 

 

“No! You’re coming back with me,” says Hux. He looks to the Fox God. “Don’t listen to him,” he says. “He doesn’t know what he’s asking you for.”

 

 

“Will I be a bird?” Ren asks. “Or a rabbit? Please, something soft.”

 

 

 _What do you want to be?_ asks the Fox God.

 

 

Ren uses his left arm to push himself up, holding the right one close to his side. “I want to be like you,” he says. He slouches, delirious, his eyes filling with tears. “You’re so beautiful and strong. You seem so happy.” Lurching over the edge of the pond, he cups his left hand and dips it in, bringing a splash of water to his mouth. “I’m sorry--” he says. “I’m trying but. It hurts. My shoulder. I can’t reach.”

 

 

 _You’re doing well_ , _soft one,_ says the Fox God, using its head to support him . Ren scoops another handful of water into his mouth before collapsing on his back in pain. The Fox God turns its head to look at Hux, and Hux feels painfully self-conscious, like he’s being scolded. It seems like he ought to intervene, but he just stands there watching. He can’t bring himself to resist the Fox God’s authority. It’s power over him is absolute. And now, whether or not Ren understands what he’s done by drinking the water , it will be the same for him. _Now sleep,_ says the Fox God, and Ren closes his eyes. It walks over to Hux, brushing against him with its tail. _He will recover soon,_ it says. _All he needs is rest._

 

 

Hux nods. There’s no point in arguing. “How are we going to get home?” he asks. The Fox God raises a paw in the air and Hux looks towards the sky. Snoke’s strange, tentacled ship descends soundlessly into the glade, its horrible mouth open wide. Hux takes a step back, his ears twitching in alarm.

 

 

 _It will carry you were you wish to go,_ says the Fox God.

 

 

Hux takes a deep breath. “Thank you,” he says. He picks Ren up from the shore, taking comfort in the fact that his shoulder has stopped bleeding. Ren has turned warm and rosy with fever. Hux wonders if his immune system is attacking the spirit he’s swallowed. Is Ren changing already? Are his cells being replaced even now? Hux squeezes him in concern.

 

 

 _General Hux,_ says the Fox God. _Take care of my children._

 

 

Standing before the ship’s writhing, pitch-black mouth, Hux glances back over his shoulder. “I will,” he says. He raises an eyebrow. “I fear your wrath far too much to do otherwise.” The last thing he hears as he steps into the darkness is the Fox God’s chirping laughter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“General? Can you hear me?”

 

 

Waking up in medical is never a good sign. Hux rolls over to find Uno perched on a metal stool beside him, datapad in her lap. “Yes,” he says. “What’s going on?” He tries to remember what happened. He doesn’t _feel_ sick.

 

 

Uno shines a light into each of his eyes and taps out a brief note. “You were found unconscious in the main hangar,” she says.

 

 

“Oh!” Hux sits up straight, remembering. “Why was it empty?” he asks.

 

 

Uno turns her head, giving him a dubious look. “You called a fire drill, Sir,” she says.

 

 

“No I didn’t,” says Hux.

 

 

“Are you sure?” asks Uno. She thinks he’s lost his mind, Hux realizes. They found him passed out in the hangar, half naked and covered in dirt. They must know he took a shuttle to the surface of the planet, after it was evacuated and declared unsafe. It only seems logical, from their perspective, to attribute this bizarre behavior to his transformation. They don’t know anything about what happened with Snoke.

 

 

“I didn’t call a fucking fire drill,” says Hux.

 

 

“Of course not, Sir,” says Uno, nodding. She bites her lip. “But someone using your clearance codes did.”

 

 

“Snoke.” Hux hops down off the bed, his tail swishing in excitement. Uno wheels her stool out of his way, watching him with concern. “Snoke used my clearance,” he says. He waves a hand at her. “It doesn’t matter now.” Uno presses her knees together primly, waiting. “I’m not crazy,” says Hux. He looks down at himself. They’ve bathed him and dressed him in white patient’s scrubs. His tail looks shiny and clean. “And I can prove it. I just need a little bit of time.”

 

 

Uno squints at him. “No rush, Sir,” she says. She reaches over to pat the mattress. “If you would just have a seat, please. So I can finish my examination.”

 

 

Reluctantly, Hux sits back down on the edge of the bed. “I’m fine,” he says. _We made it_ , he thinks, reaching inward to give the fox a quick squeeze. _We’re alive. Now stay calm, and do as I say, and hopefully we can keep it that way for a while._

 

 

Uno peers inside his ears, and checks for swelling under his arms and along his jaw. “Looks normal,” she says. “No obvious signs of infection.” She gestures at FX-12 to pass her a sterile needle. “I’ll just need a blood sample,” she says. She loads the needle into a strange looking gun.

 

 

“What’s that?” Hux asks, alarmed.

 

 

“The elasticity of your skin makes it extremely difficult to penetrate,” says Uno, wincing in sympathy. “I’m afraid this’ll probably hurt a bit. It’s a venepuncture gun, for species with tougher skin than humans.” Hux holds out his arm, and Uno lifts the gun. Using a laser sight to find the vein, she holds it in place and pulls the trigger.

 

 

“Agh!” Hux cries. “Why would the First Order have such a thing?” he asks, grinding his teeth.

 

 

“We don’t,” says Uno, pulling the silver piston and letting the glass chamber fill with Hux’s blood. “I bought it just for you, on the black market.” She slides the hollow needle out of his arm, pressing her lips together in quiet satisfaction before passing the gun back to FX-12. She dabs at the injection site with a medicated swab, and by the time she’s done wiping it, the tiny wound has already healed.

 

 

“The black market?” Hux asks, incredulous. “With what credits? You’re a medic.” Uno smiles, and Hux looks around the room. “Is this some sort of test?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not crazy!”

 

 

“I know,” she says, sobering. “I believe you.” She picks up her datapad, typing a few things before putting it back down. “I’m going to tell them you’re alright,” she says.

 

 

“Good,” says Hux, relaxing a bit.

 

 

Uno looks down, folding her hands in her lap. “Sir?” she asks. Hux looks at her. Her hair is in a high knot today. It makes her seem younger, less severe. “Do you consider us friends?”

 

 

Hux’s mouth falls open. “What?” He blinks.

 

 

“It’s just that...” She starts breathing quickly, fearful of retaliation. “I keep telling you things,” she says. “Things I know I’m not supposed to tell you. And at the beginning, I thought I’d be disciplined. Or worse. But you seem to... like it? And if you were another medic,” she adds, “then we’d certainly be friends by now.”

 

 

Hux shakes his head in slow confusion. _Yes, yes. Good friend. Nice friend._ “But I’m not a medic,” he says. His heart hurts, and for a moment, he almost wishes he was. It might be easier on his fox-feelings, at least. “According to First Principles, everyone has their place.”

 

 

“Your place is in command,” says Uno, nodding. “I know that. But my place is in taking care of your health. And most people need some sort of companionship... to be healthy.” She looks at him straight on, and there’s fear in her eyes. But there’s also hope. She’s making a risky play. She doesn’t think he’ll get rid of her.

 

 

“Snoke is gone,” he says. She doesn’t react. Hux leans forward, hands folded between his knees. “How did you know?”

 

 

Her brown eyes look dry and glassy under the florescent lights. She’s been awake for a long time. Because of him? “You were saying it in your sleep,” she says, after a minute. “And somehow I-- I could sense that it was true.” She expects him to seize power, Hux realizes. And she wants to be close to power.

 

 

“You think I’ll become the next Supreme Leader?” he asks. The fox part of him, the part of him that really _does_ want them to be friends, is wounded.

 

 

“There’s no one else,” she says, with sudden passion. “We’d follow you. Almost everyone would follow you. Kern will try to contest your claim, but he’ll lose. You’re smarter than him, you’re stronger than him, and everyone respects you more. And besides that, you’re close to Kylo Ren.”

 

 

“Yes,” says Hux. He pulls a face. “See? I have ‘companionship.’ I have Ren.”

 

 

“Oh,” says Uno softly, her eyes widening. “I didn’t realize he and you were...” She smiles, embarrassed, yet pleased. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she says. “I was worried about you. I thought you were... alone.”

 

 

“Your worry is unnecessary,” says Hux. “And you’re a medic, not a psychiatrist. Keep to your place.”

 

 

“Yes, Sir,” says Uno. She rotates on her stool towards FX-12, preparing to submit her report.

 

 

Hux sighs. He feels such warmth towards her. He can’t help it. She’s been taking care of him for years. This battle was lost a long time ago, when he started calling her ‘Uno’ in his head, instead of MD-1111. “You won’t face discipline,” he says. “Relax.” There’s no one looking over his shoulder now. The Commandant is gone. Snoke is gone. There’s no one to keep him in line. First Principles are already lying in ruin. He’s not even Supreme Leader yet, and he’s already destroying everything. Once you start bending the rules, you begin the inevitable descent into anarchy. “But,” he says, “I think I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least ask where you’re getting the money to spend on black market medical supplies.”

 

 

She scrunches her mouth, trying to conceal a proud smirk. “A medic’s skills are valuable,” she says. “Especially in the Outer Rim. If you can’t see a Republic doctor, we’re the next best thing.”

 

 

“We?” Hux asks. “The First Order Medical Corps?” Uno lowers her eyelashes. “Well,” says Hux, rolling his eyes. “I suppose we can’t court marshal every last one of you.” There’s a popular saying that the First Order wouldn’t last a week without the black market, but it’s usually meant in the spirit of comical exaggeration. Out of sight, out of mind, is Hux’s usual policy. “Is this a military force you want me to run, or a caravan of pirates?” he asks.

 

 

“Bit of both, I think,” says Uno.

 

 

Hux hops down off the bed, stretching his arms. “Kern can have it,” he jokes.

 

 

She laughs, picking up her stylus and signing the screen. “Alright,” she says. “You’re all clear.”

 

 

“Thank you, Uno,” Hux nods.

 

 

She spins her stool towards him, blinking in surprise. “That’s what my friends call me,” she says, like it’s an accusation.

 

 

“Yes,” Hux mutters uncomfortably, smoothing down the front of his white smock. “Well, thank you in any case.” His tail sweeps across the backs of his knees as he turns to go. “Hang on.” He whirls around. “Where’s Ren?”

 

 

Uno frowns. “I don’t know,” she says.

 

 

“He wasn’t with me?” Hux asks. “In the hangar.” Uno gives him a look that says she’s reconsidering whether or not she thinks he’s lost his mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stepping out onto the upper deck, Hux strides down the hall towards his quarters, his belly leaping with nervous excitement. Ren’s presence feels new, and different, and strange. He seems to be in a good mood, but his mind feels clouded. Possibly drunk? If Ren’s gotten into his good bourbon--

 

 

Hux stops short in front of the door, bringing a hand to his mouth. He’d almost forgotten: Ren drank the water. His hand hovers over the control panel as he imagines what he’ll find on the inside. “Ren?” he calls. There’s no answer. Ren’s mind brushes wordlessly against his. “I know you’re in there,” says Hux. “This isn’t funny.”

 

 

He keys himself in, sniffing the air as the door whispers closed behind him. _O_ _ther fox_ _tries to hide, but he can’t hide._ He looks down. _It is fun game, only pretend._ A long black tail hangs off the edge of his mattress, lazily sweeping the floor. “Why didn’t you report to medical?” Hux asks. He walks over to the bed and tears the blankets away to find Ren curled up naked beneath them. “Look at you,” says Hux. “You ought to be examined.”

 

 

Ren rolls onto his back, kicking at the air, and makes a strange, gargling noise. Flipping over onto his hands a knees, he crawls onto the floor, hissing and baring his teeth. Hux takes several steps back, his heart skipping. “What are you doing?” he asks. Ren barks, his tail raised in a gesture of aggression. The differences between this and his previous transformation are obvious. Before, he was only a facsimile. Now, he’s the real thing, lit from within by a spirit of the forest. Its power has rendered him smooth and flawless, softening away his harsh edges. The swell of his muscles is symmetrical and rounded, leaving nothing crooked or sinewy in his shape. Swirling pink marks, like ritual tattoos, are all that remain of his many raised scars. His black fur catches a blue shine as he slinks across the floor, his tail swaying in the air like a metronome.

 

 

“Oh,” says Hux, blushing as Ren’s warm chai scent washes over him. “I see. You’re in that... state.” They should really come up with a name for it. Preferably something that isn’t _too_ humiliating. “I’m going to take off these scrubs, alright?” Hux raises his hands, backing away until he collides with the edge of the table. “Just-- stay put for a moment, alright?” He gives a sort of nervous wave.

 

 

Ren growls, his bright gold eyes tracking Hux’s movements. Even on all fours, he’s surprisingly graceful and intimidating. Hux kicks off the slippers, steps out of the stiff, white leggings and pulls the white smock over his head as Ren watches, impatient. “Calm down,” says Hux, as Ren stalks closer, rumbling with menace. Hux can already feel himself growing aroused, his limbs loosening as Ren’s pheromones hit his blood. “You drank the water, you idiot,” he says. “You have no one to blame but yourself.” Naked, he tosses the scrubs over the back of his chair, and Ren pounces, attacking his legs. “Ren!” Hux snaps, as if he’s scolding an actual dog, instead of just an idiot who looks like one. “What’s wrong with you?” Ren licks Hux’s shins against the grain of his hair, sending tremors though his body, and Hux feels himself begin to bend involuntarily at the waist.

 

 

He panics and grabs the edge of the table, trying to resist the motion as Ren’s tongue climbs his inner thigh, coaxing him down to the floor. By reflex, he throws his arms out to catch himself, palms landing softly against the cool plasteel. As soon as he’s down, that maddening, inner switch is flipped, momentarily whiting out his vision. The energy pours over him from the crown of his skull, raising bumps across his bare skin and turning him pink and hypersensitive everywhere it touches. The desire to stroke and rub himself is overwhelming, but he can’t do anything but squirm as his limbs lock into place with an intangible click. Ren is on him immediately. He snaps and growls against Hux’s back, gnawing on his shoulder, his erection boring into the softness of Hux’s thigh. Hux throws Ren off but Ren tackles him again. They wrestle, surprisingly well matched despite Ren’s greater size, the mechanism behind their enhanced strength having little to do with mass.

 

 

Ren grinds against him, yipping miserably, but he quickly loses patience. After a minute, he dismounts and paces around behind Hux, his tail swaying high in the air. Hux starts to crawl forwards and Ren snaps at him, grabbing him by the tail with his teeth and reeling him back in. Gentling, he nuzzles the side of his face against Hux’s arse, and Hux stills, waiting to see what comes next. Ren’s nose is teasing the base of his tail, sending shocks of pleasure up his spine. Ren is sniffing him, he thinks, embarrassed. And then tasting him. A warm tongue laps at the underside of his tail, making him lower his head in submission. His prick is aching. Ren hesitates for a moment before licking into him and quickly withdrawing, and Hux gasps aloud. They’ve never done _that_ before.

 

 

Ren nuzzles him again, his cheek burning against Hux’s hip. He starts slowly, lifting his chin and letting his tongue dart in and out a few times before pausing, as though considering how to proceed. The sound of Ren’s ragged breathing makes Hux tense with excitement, and he tries to make himself relax, waiting for Ren to get going. Hux’s stomach flutters at the sound of Ren’s voice, so soft and low behind him. The same feeling of decadent helplessness he felt yesterday washes over him again, intensified by the fact that Ren is in the same condition. For reasons that remain opaque to him, he finds himself thoroughly enjoying it.

 

 

He tries to be still, his chest vibrating with anticipation. Ren’s tongue presses into him, slowly at first, massaging him kindly as he relaxes into it. Hux closes his eyes, taking short, gasping breaths as the energy between them gently builds. He used to be bored and annoyed by this part, eager to get on with the process so that he could kick Ren out of his quarters and get back to work. Now, his work is a distant memory. Ren’s tongue is so different, so much more subtle and powerful than Ren’s fingers.

 

 

Hux chirps in surprise as it finally plunges into him, working him open. He bites his lip, pressing himself back against Ren’s face and Ren growls, shoving him forward again. Hux’s tail stands straight up in the air and then flops all the way over, hitting him in the back of the head. The air around him feels like it’s throbbing. Ren rears back, gnashing his teeth and tossing his head, his long hair tickling the small of Hux’s back. He bites at the soft flesh, working his way back up to the base of Hux’s tail. Grabbing Hux’s tail between his teeth, he gives it a playful tug which is just this side of painful. He crawls around in a circle, trying to get Hux to look at him. Hux lifts his head, dazed, to find Ren licking his face.

 

 

“Ugh.” Hux shakes him off. “Don’t try to kiss me after you--”

 

 

Ren turns his face towards his shoulder, frustrated. He slinks over towards the bed, finding yesterday’s discarded phial of lube on the floor and stooping to pick it up with his teeth. He frowns, and Hux can feel the air around Ren tensing up as he tries to use the Force to pull off the plastic cap. Arousal and sensory overload have destroyed Ren’s concentration, making it difficult, but after a few tries he gets the cap off and crawls up behind Hux, tipping it over him and letting it drip down into his cleft. Fortunately, the glass phial has a narrow opening that only allows the liquid to come out a drop at a time. It’s cool on Hux’s skin as it runs down the insides of his thighs. “What’s wrong with you?” Hux asks, again. “Why won’t you say anything?” He closes his eyes in meditation and presses his forehead against the floor, waiting to be mounted.

 

 

Ren barks, sliding into place. He doesn’t wait long for Hux to adjust before starting to move, gnawing on Hux’s shoulder blades as his pace and energy increase. Words flee Hux’s mind, and soon Ren’s refusal to answer him doesn’t seem so strange. Hux whines, his tail wriggling, trapped between their bodies. He feels like his insides are melting.

 

 

Ren bites at Hux’s ear, yanking on it as he comes with a low growl. Slackening against Hux’s back, he rumbles softly, so still and quiet, that for a moment Hux thinks he might be asleep. Before Hux can catch his breath, Ren withdraws and lowers himself to the floor again, panting expectantly.

 

 

“What?” Hux gasps. Ren headbutts him in the side, and Hux allows himself to be rolled over onto his back, his arms and legs flailing in the air. He bows to sniff at Hux’s silky pubic hair, nosing his still hard prick. “Yes,” says Hux, his head lolling deliriously. “The hair there, too. It’s so soft now, isn’t it? All so soft...” Ren’s tongue finds the seam of his groin and thigh, sending his voice flying out of his body. He tosses his head back and forth, squeezing his eyes shut, as Ren laps at the underside of his prick. “Please--” he whispers. Ren’s warm breath puffs against his thighs. “Oh, fuck--” says Hux. “Please!” At last, Ren takes mercy on him, vigorously sucking him off until he comes with an earsplitting trill.

 

 

Seeing rainbows, Hux rolls clumsily onto his side. Ren grabs him by the waist, dragging him into bed and pulling the blankets over them, his tail draped protectively over Hux’s hip. “That was-- good--” says Hux. He presses his face against Ren’s chest, sighing in contentment. _New fox is nice, nice friend, good mate._ He shakes himself, opening his eyes. “I should ask you how you’re adjusting to this,” he says. Ren mewls at him, squeezing his waist. Hux frowns. “Kylo,” he urges, “say something.” His blood freezes. “Stop it!” he says, grabbing Ren by the hair and staring into his eyes. “Don’t fuck with me. You’re still in there.” He struggles in Ren’s embrace. “No,” he says, hyperventilating. “No nonono. You’re still in there!” Ren growls possessively, burrowing deeper under the blankets and clutching Hux against him. Hux bites him on the nose. “Fuck you,” he screams. “ _Say something!_ ”

 

 

“Ow!” says Ren. He shakes his head, his eyes clearing. “Please-- Don’t make me talk. To talk, I have to think.” He nuzzles the pillow beneath him, his head growing heavy. His voice is strained and quiet. “I don’t want to think.”

 

 

Hux works his jaw, shaking in anger and confusion. “For a moment, I thought--” His face is burning. “You asked it to make you an animal,” he says, his lip curled in disgust.

 

 

Ren sighs through his nose. “All I want is peace,” he says. He looks down at himself, his brow creasing with weariness, and his tail coils against his belly as if to comfort him. “I like my new self,” he says. “It’s easier now, to forget everything. I know you don’t like it but. For me, having all these instincts and feelings--” He squirms. “Sorry, I can’t--” He arches his back, yawning like a giant cat. “My body doesn’t listen to me now anyway,” he says, pouting. “What’s the point of thinking about it?”

 

 

Hux relaxes, his anger cooling. “It will listen to you,” he says. “Somewhat.” He shrugs. “You’ve got to learn to pick your battles. But you mustn’t--” He swallows down the sudden possibility of tears. “You mustn’t allow your mind, your will to atrophy. You’re not a beast. And I won’t allow you to become one.”

 

 

Ren whimpers softly, the corners of his ears turning down. “What difference is it to you?” he asks. “What do you need my mind for?” He tucks his chin, curling in on himself. “You don’t trust me. You don’t listen to me. All I’m good for is fucking. I don’t need to think for that.”

 

 

Hux looks at him, stunned. “That’s not true,” he says dumbly.

 

 

 _Why is new fox so sad?_ the spirit asks him. _Tell him he is good mate. Tell him there is nice den, plenty food. We will share. He is new and scared, but we will teach him good, cozy life._

 

 

For the first time, Hux wishes he truly understood the nature of Ren and Snoke’s relationship. He’d always done his best to ignore the interactions between them that made him feel uncomfortable. But now, it feels as if he’s missing a piece of the puzzle. He wants to tell Ren that a life after Snoke is possible, but he’s also keenly aware of being out of depth. Whatever path of enlightenment Ren thought he was walking, it’s come to a violent and abrupt dead end. Hux reaches out to stroke Ren’s tail, trying to imagine what that must be like.

 

 

“I-- I like that,” says Ren, his breath hitching in pleasure. “Please don’t stop.” Tears are rolling down his chin.

 

 

Hux turns over onto his side, playfully dragging his claws through Ren’s luxurious fur. “On one condition,” he says. He lets his tail flop over into Ren’s lap. “You have to do mine.” _Yes, yes. So nice._ He purrs in delight as Ren’s long fingers stroke his tail, lightly at first, and then with more firmness, plainly savoring the texture.

 

 

“What use am I now?” Ren asks. “What use am I to anyone?” He nods down at his hand, caressing Hux’s tail. “Aside from this, I mean.”

 

 

Hux gives him a stern look. “Have you forgotten your First Principles?” he asks. Ren squints at him. “Everyone in the First Order has a purpose,” says Hux. “Everyone has a place. No one is left behind. No one is useless.”

 

 

Ren smiles sadly. “You really believe all that?” He fidgets, unfolding and folding his legs. “I guess you don’t realize how you sound--”

 

 

“How I _sound?_ ” Hux asks.

 

 

“To someone from outside, I mean,” says Ren. “Outside the First Order.” Ren snuggles closer, wiping his eyes on the back of his arm. “Never mind,” he says.

 

 

“What I’m trying to say,” says Hux, annoyed, “if you’d just listen... Is that you have a place here, with me.”

 

 

“As your mate?” asks Ren.

 

 

“What?” Hux scowls. “Don’t-- Don’t call it that!”

 

 

Ren laughs. “But isn’t that what it is?” He lowers his eyelashes coyly. “Isn’t that what it feels like?” _Yes, yes. A good mate. Healthy and strong._ Hux reddens, chittering in frustration, and buries his face in Ren’s shoulder. Ren gathers Hux up into his arms, stroking his shoulders and back. “What was it you said?” He yawns. “About picking your battles?” Hux would have a retort to this, if only he could stop purring long enough to deliver it.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
